Corean Chronicles Book 3
By
L. E. Modesitt Jr.
Contents
Part I.
    THE SCEPTER OF THE PAST
Part II.
THE SCEPTER OF THE PRESENT

SCEPTERS

The Corean Chronicles

Legacies

Darknesses

Scepters



The Spellsong Cycle

The Soprano Sorceress

The Spellsong War

Darksong Rising

The Shadow Sorceress

Shadowsinger



The Saga of Recluce

The Magic of Recluce

The Towers of the Sunset

The Magic Engineer

The Order War

The Death of Chaos

Fall of Angels

The Chaos Balance

The White Order

Colors of Chaos

Magi'i of Cyador

Scion of Cyador

Wellspring of Chaos



The Ghost Books

Of Tangible Ghosts

The Ghost of the Revelator

Ghost of the White Nights



The Ecolitan Matter

Empire & Ecolitan

(comprising The Ecolitan Operation and The Ecologic Secession)

Ecolitan Prime

(comprising The Ecologic Envoy and The Ecolitan Enigma)



The Forever Hero

(comprising Dawn for a Distant Earth,

The Silent Warrior, and

In Endless Twilight)



Timegods' World

(comprising The Timegod and

Timediver's Dawn)



The Green Progression

The Parafaith War

The Ethos Effect

The Hammer of Darkness

Adiamante

Gravity Dreams

The Octagonal Raven

Archform: Beauty

Flash


L. E. MODESITT, JR.
SCEPTERS
The Third Book of the Corean Chronicles


A Tom Doherty Associates Book
New York



This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in
this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.



SCEPTERS: THE THIRD BOOK OF THE COREAN
CHRONICLES



Copyright © 2004 by L. E. Modesitt Jr.



Edited by David G. Hartwell



A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010



www.tor.com



Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data



ISBN 0-765-31042-2



First Edition: July 2004



Printed in the United States of America





In memoriam:

For my father, both hero and preceptor





    … The brave, the craven, those who do not care,

    will all look back, in awe, and fail to see,

    whether rich, or poor, or young, or old and frail,

    what was, what is, and what is yet to be.



    There is a time, and it will come, years hence,

    when one will find the scepters of the day,

    those scepters more and less than what they seem,

    with the might to bring life itself to bay.



    In those ages, then, will rise a leader,

    who would reclaim the glory of the past,

    and more, as he would see it, in the sun,

    to make sure the dual scepters will always last.



    Then too, the lamaial will rise, but once,

    Where none yet will suspect, nor think to dare,

    and his hidden strokes may kill aborning,

    Duality of promise bright and fair.



    For which will live, and which will prosper?

    Who will rule the lands, in faith or treason?

    One called lamaial or the one called hero,

    for one would seek a triumph, the other reason.



    Excerpts from:

    THE LEGACY OF THE DUARCHY




I.
THE SCEPTER OF THE PAST


Chapter 1
Hyalt, Lanachrona


Light fell upon the priest. That single ray of illumination, shaped by
the ancient master-carved lens in the ceiling of the long and narrow
chapel hewn out of the red rock cliffs, bathed the celebrant. His
green tunic and trousers, trimmed in purple, shimmered. So did the
alabaster makeup that covered his face. The blue-silver threads in
the black short-haired wig picked up the light, creating a halo
around his face. The black boots, with inset lifts, reflected light as if
they too were burnished mirrors.

A long chord echoed through the temple, but the priest did not
speak until all was silent.

"When our forebears turned their backs on the True Duarchy, then
the One Who Is turned away and let the Cataclysm fall upon
Corus…" The celebrant's voice seemed to come from
everywhere, yet nowhere.

More than a hundred worshippers stood with bowed heads, heads
covered with black scarves of mourning. Only a handful dared to
look from lowered heads toward the front of the temple.

"The Cataclysm did not have to happen. The misery and suffering
did not have to come to pass. And why did it come to be? How
could so many be so blind?"

The only response to his questions was silence.

"The Duarchy of Corus bestowed peace and prosperity upon all
the world, for generation upon generation. Never was there so fair
a realm, so just a world. Never were so blessed the peoples of a
world. Never had so many benefited so much. And then, in an
instant, it all vanished…"

In the next-to-last line of worshippers stood a dark-haired figure in
gray. He was a head taller than those around him, and his face
paler. The weave of the wool of his traveling cloak was somewhat
finer. His head was bent slightly less than the heads of others, and
his eyes never left the celebrant. The faintest hint of an amused
smile appeared from time to time at the corners of his thin lips.

"… as the Mantra of Mourning declares… Ice flowed from the
skies. The air that had been so fair, and perfumed, became as thin
and as acrid as vinegar. Streams dried in their beds, rivers in their
courses, never to flow again… All that had been beautiful and great
perished and was lost. And for what reason?"

After a momentary silence, the priest answered, "Because people
were selfish and thought only of themselves. They turned their
backs on the True Duarchy, and when they did so, they turned their
backs on the One Who Is… for the Duarchy was indeed His
creation…

"… in this world of transitory glory, when warlord succeeds warlord,
and battle follows battle, and evil follows evil, we must persevere.
We must have faith in the One Who Is. We must follow the path of
righteousness to restore the old truths. For only by the instrument
of the True Duarchy shall we be redeemed. Only by restoring the
true creation of the One Who Is shall we once more see peace
and prosperity, faith and faithfulness…"

The traveler in gray nodded, appreciatively, and continued to listen.

"… even today, the troubles continue. The hills to the north and
west have become so dry in your lifetimes that they support
nothing but twisted trees and spiky thorn, and yet the unbelievers
do not see. Even here in Hyalt, where it is obvious, they do not
see…

"… when the only deity is gold, when the only rule is power, when
the only law is that laid down by the longest blade, by the deadliest
rifle, no man can be safe, and none can find security. There are no
arts, no fine buildings, no wondrous words, nothing but gold and
blood…"

The traveler continued to listen, until at last came a hymn and the
concluding refrain:



"… for the beauty of the skies and sea,

the full return of perfect harmony,

the blessings of the True Duarchy

and for the One Who Will Always Be!"



After the hymn, the priest turned to the worshippers. "Praise to the
One Who Is! And for His creation of the Duarchy!"

"And for His creation of the Duarchy!" repeated the congregation.
"Praise to the One Who Is! For He will come again in glory!" "For
He will come again in glory!" "Praise to Him and His True Duarchy!
For all that was and will be!"

"For all that was and will be!"

The single ray of light vanished, plunging the cavern temple into
total darkness for a long moment. Then, slowly, more indirect light
filtered into the temple as the skylight portals, with their gauze-
covered panes, were uncovered.

The sanctuary at the front of the temple was empty.

The gray-clad traveler made his way forward, toward the side
entrance leading to the chambers of the celebrant. His fingers
touched briefly the outer garments over the heavy leather wallet
hidden beneath his cloak and filled with golds.
Chapter 2

The wind moaned over the top of Westridge, hissing through the
quarasote that had grown up following the Cataclysm and that had
come to dominate the arid lands of the Iron Valleys in the tens of
centuries that followed. Alucius half stood in the stirrups, stretching
his legs. He settled back into the saddle of the gray gelding, drank
in the cool and dry morning air, and smiled to himself. He looked to
the northeast out across the ridge before him, and the expanse of
land empty except for quarasote and sand and red soil—and the
predators and prey that were unseen, except to those who knew
how to understand the Iron Valleys or to those with Talent, who
could sense the lifethreads that wove the world into a unified
whole.

A good summer morning, he thought, bending forward and
thumping the gelding on the shoulder. "We've got a ways to go."

The lead ram was already five hundred yards—a quarter
vingt—ahead of the last ewe, and they were barely four vingts out
from the stead buildings.

The faint flash of green gossamer radiance washed over Alucius,
and he half turned in the saddle. A single soarer hovered in the
silver-green sky of morning, her wings shimmering against the sky
and the sheer stone ramparts of the Aerial Plateau to the east. The
herder's eyes took in the feminine form of the soarer, then darted
back to check his flock almost immediately.

He had not seen a soarer in almost two years—since he had left
the hidden city. Nor had he and his Talent sensed the green
radiance of one in all that time. And all the times he had seen one
of the soaring winged figures had meant change—and usually
trouble.

He cast forth an inquiry. What now?

The soarer vanished without a response. One instant, she was
there. The next she was not. While she had not felt familiar, Alucius
had not been close enough long enough to tell for sure if the
soarer had been the one who had instructed him during his brief
captivity in the hidden city.

His hand touched the hilt of the sabre at his belt. He glanced down
at the rifle in its leather saddle case. Even with the massive
cartridges used in a herder rifle—with casings bigger than the
thumb of a large man—rifles were usually not all that effective
against the kind of trouble she foreshadowed. Rifles were most
useful against sandwolves and, sometimes, against sanders—and
necessary, since both would prey on lone nightsheep… and
especially on ewes and lambs. Rifles were useless against ifrits,
but Alucius had never seen one near a stead—not surprising, since
he'd only seen two in person in his life, three if he counted the
Matrial, and he had not really even seen her.

A soarer above Westridge in the morning, reflected Alucius, was
so infrequent that he almost wanted to turn back to the stead to tell
Wendra about it. But what could he tell his wife, except that a
soarer had appeared, then vanished without a word or gesture?

Outside of the Iron Valleys, soarers—and even sanders—had
already become a myth for most of Corus, one told in tales that
included the Myrmidons and alectors of the long-vanished
Duarchy—the millennium recalled by most of Corus as one of
peace and prosperity. Both the duration of that reign and the
prosperity and fairness of the Duarchy had been lies and
exaggerations of the cruelest sort, as Alucius had discovered in his
battles as a Northern Guard officer, but since he had no way to
prove what he had discovered—except by revealing his Talent in a
world that feared and mistrusted it—the lie lived on, a comforting
tale of a golden past. Some folk—especially the savants from
Tempre—said the soarers were never there at all, that they were
but mirages created by light and the fine, mirrorlike dust worn off
the quartz ridges that lined the natural parapets of the Aerial
Plateau by the endless winds. Alucius knew better. So did any of
the double handful of nightsheep herders around Iron Stem.

Alucius nodded as he glanced back at his flock. Two of the
nightrams edged toward each other. Their curled black
horns—knife-sharp on the front edges, and strong enough to bend
a sabre—glittered in the morning sun. Red eyes shone out of black
faces, and the black wool that was tougher than thick leather, more
valuable than gold, and covered their two-yard-long bodies and
broad shoulders, gave them a massive and menacing appearance.
A nightram could gut a single sandwolf, although the sandwolves
were even larger, with crystal fangs more than a handspan in
length, but the sandwolves hunted in packs and tried to pick off
ewes and lambs, or older and weaker nightrams who strayed from
the flock.

One of the nightrams pawed the ground, and Alucius could sense
the antagonism between the two males. He eased the big gray
gelding forward, reaching out with his Talent to project disapproval
and separation. Both of the black-wooled rams looked up. Alucius
could sense their frustration, but they separated. Herding
nightsheep was a chancy life, and impossible, often fatal, if the
herder didn't have the Talent to make his feelings known.

Alucius was fortunate to bear within him that Talent—more than
fortunate, for the life of a herder suited him. That he also knew.
With his crooked smile, he let his impatience flow out, spreading
across the flock, chivvying the animals eastward. They needed to
graze on the lands near the Aerial Plateau—the nearer the
better—if their wool were to be prime.

The nightrams black undercoat was softer than duck down, cooler
than linen in summer, and warmer than sheep's wool in winter, but
stronger than iron wire once it was shorn and processed into
nightsilk. The wool of the outer coat was used for jackets stronger
and more flexible—and far lighter—than plate mail. Under
pressure, the fabric stiffened to a hardness beyond steel, hard
enough to serve as armor of sorts, although its comparative
thinness meant that bruises to the body so shielded were not
uncommon—as Alucius well knew from his personal experience in
the militia, then the Northern Guard.

The wool from the yearlings or the ewes was equally soft, but not
as strong under duress, and was used for the garments of the
lady-gentry of such cities as Borlan, Tempre, Krost, and
Southgate. Nightsheep could make a herder a comfortable living in
Iron Stem, if they and their predators didn't kill him first.

Alucius urged the gray eastward across the ground where little
grew except the quarasote bushes, on whose tender new stalks
the nightsheep fed. After a year's growth, the lower shoots of the
bushes toughened, and after two, not even a maul-axe with a knife-
sharp blade on the axe side could cut through the toughened bark,
and the finger-long thorns that grew in the third year could slice
through any boot leather. In its fourth year, each bush flowered with
tiny silver-green blossoms. The blossoms became seedpods that
exploded across the sandy wastes in the chill of winter, and then
the bush died, leaving behind dead stalks that contained too much
silica to burn or to break or cut. Yet they too succumbed to the
wasteland, and to the shellbeetles that devoured them. That was
the harsh way of the lands beneath the Plateau and the reason why
few liked Iron Stem, even those living there.

Some complained about the wind, the way it blew hard and hot
through the summer and cold and bitingly dry through the winter.
Some said that each wind was different and none were to be
trusted. Others complained about the dryness, because little but
quarasote and an occasional juniper grew in the Iron Valleys.

The same people complained that in winter there was no heat in
the sun except where it struck the eternastones of the high road
that ran from Eastice in the far north down through Soulend and
Iron Stem and then Dekhron, and across the River Vedra, and far
into the south of Lanachrona. There were other high roads, too,
and while they had been traveled heavily in the days of the
Duarchy, most times now only a handful of traders or travelers
could be found on any of them.

Some thirty vingts to the east stood the mighty Aerial Plateau,
whose stone ramparts ran straight upward six thousand yards or
more. All who had tried to climb the Plateau failed long before they
reached the top. Most vanished, their bones occasionally
discovered by Alucius or some other herder.

In the last years of the Duarchy, the Duarches had dumped the
malcontents and worse in Iron Stem to work the iron mines and
great mill, guarded by the Cadmians with their lightning-shaped
blades. Later, after the Cataclysm and the fall of the Duarchy, the
mines played out over the millennia, and Iron Stem withered from a
small city into a small and struggling town. Then, for a long time, all
that sustained Iron Stem had been the herders from the north, the
lumber mills in Wesrigg, and the dustcat works. There Gortal's
scutters gathered the dustcat dander and processed it into the
dreamdust, which was worth more than nightsilk in the Lanachronan
cities of the south—and far more even than that for the little that
traveled the ancient roads back to Lustrea in the east.

His concentration returned to the lead nightram, even as he
wondered why the soarer had seemed to look at him and whether
Wendra had sensed the winged marvel. With a rueful smile, he
shook his head and urged the gray to catch up to the lead rams, his
eyes checking the bushes and the hummocks for traces of wolves.
Sanders left neither tracks nor traces.

As Alucius's mount carried him eastward, his eyes flicked back
toward the long ridge that separated him from his stead—and from
Wendra. After more than three years of marriage, skilled and
Talented as Wendra was, Alucius still fretted about leaving her.
Chapter 3
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

The two men were seated in wooden armchairs before a desk in a
study. On the serving table between the two were tall beakers of
ale, half-full. The summer sun beat through the glass of the closed
windows, but both men wore heavy tunics and trousers.

"I worry about the herder, still," observed the round-faced trader in
the blue tunic trimmed in dark gray. His voice was so low that no
one more than a fraction of a yard away could have heard the
words. "Have you followed him, Tarolt?"

"He returned to his stead two years ago. He has built up his flock
and devoted himself to his wife and family. Has he once shown an
interest in what lies beyond his stead and Iron Stem?" replied the
older-looking man, his words equally muted.

"No, but he destroyed the Matrial, as well as Aellyan Edyss and
more than ten pteridons. Then he traveled the Tables and killed
one of ours, and came back and obliterated the Table in
Tempre—although it was close to failing, in any case. And after
that, he single-handedly killed more than twenty bravos who tried to
ambush him. With the four hundred golds that cost…"

"They were only coins, Halanat, and a pittance compared to what
we have gathered and will gather." The white-haired man smiled
coldly. "I do believe he got the message. It took him nearly a
month to recover from that, and he has, as you noted so well,
scarcely looked beyond his own stead in almost two years. In that
time, we have accomplished much. We have a working group here,
and a new and fully functioning Table now in Salaan. We have
assisted the Regent of the Matrial in finding informers, although
she knows it not. We have more and more true believers, or, if you
will, followers of the True Duarchy. Adarat will soon strike the first
blow in the south. These followers will grow and create the
necessary distraction and dissension all across Corus, all in places
well away from where we operate. And we have also made a
healthy profit in dealing with Adarat. Before long we will even
control the Regent of the Matrial. With all that, we will be able to
build more Tables and translate more true Efrans, and this world
will once more be ours, as it should have been for the past
millennium."

"What if the herder discovers what we have accomplished? It took
much lifeforce to wrench the Table into place in Salaan, and we
have not solidified…"

"When he has not been south of Iron Stem in two years? That was
one reason why we ensured that his wife's father is now receiving
orders for his barrels. They're better and cheaper than those our
traders can get here, and they will keep the herder's wife from
pushing him into looking beyond their own needs. Besides, who
would call us to his attention? Especially with all the other problems
arising in Corus?" Tarolt's laugh carried an ironic tone.

"The older ones, the hidden ones. Or the side effects of the
translations. Or sheer ill chance."

"There are few of the hidden ones, and fewer every year. In less
than a handful of years, all will be gone." Tarolt frowned. "As for the
translation effects… there is little we can do about those, would
that we could, for each is a failed translation, There is always the
likelihood that one will find him, because they are drawn to Talent.
Still… he has seen sanders and soarers and sandwolves, and it
may be that, even if he sees such, he will not draw the right
conclusion. Or that he will wait. Remember… he is a man who will
do what is necessary—but not unless he is forced to act. That is
his greatest weakness. All we need do is to ensure that he is not
forced to act. That is one reason why we have avoided…
activities… near the herder steads."

"Can we continue to keep him from acting?" asked Halanat.
"Especially if there are more and more wild translations around
him? We must have more support from Efra. And with him that
close to the Plateau and with that meddler Kustyl… ?"

"Kustyl could be removed."

"That would force the herder to act. Kustyl is his wife's grandsire."

Tarolt shook his head. "You make your point. Removing Kustyl
would merely alert the herder. I think you have something else in
mind. Exactly what?"

Halanat smiled. "The Lord-Protector is getting more and more
concerned about the state of Lanachrona. The Regent of the
Matrial is retaking the southernmost towns bordering Southgate.
Now… matters are unsettled in Deforya, and it will be a season at
most before the Landarch is toppled… Waleryn could suggest to
the Lord-Protector that a most able commander would be able to
put down the revolt in Hyalt. A particular and most able
commander."

"Why would we send him against what we are building there? That
makes little sense."

"You know that it is not important whether Adarat and the
Duarchists succeed in the coming revolt against the rule of the
Lord-Protector. What is important is the amount of destruction and
disruption there. Sensat shadow-matched Adarat when he traveled
there last year, and Adarat is convinced that he is of Efra. He does
not believe he can be bested by any Corean steer, even a Talent-
steer."

"What of it?" asked Tarolt.

"The Lord-Protector will think he is facing a local revolt. The
Regent will see an opportunity to weaken Lanachrona, and
between Adarat and the herder, there will be more disruptions…"

"That would put the herder overcaptain well out of the Iron Valleys
and would reduce the chance of his seeing too much because he
will be far too involved in trying to put down the revolt, as well as
worrying about his wife? Thar far south, even should the ancient
ones try to reach him, they would not be able to, few and failing as
they are." Tarolt frowned. "But the Lord-Protector would scarce
listen to Lord Waleryn, and if he did, he would hesitate to believe
him. If he knew that Waleryn was no longer his brother, but a
shadow-Efran, he would never believe Waleryn at all."

"He does not know that and never will. Waleryn can ensure that
dispatches and information reach Marshal Frynkel and Marshal
Alyniat. He can suggest to them that the Lord-Protector request the
overcaptain—as a majer—take command of the forces to put down
the revolt in Hyalt. The overcaptain is known to be able to do much
with little, and that will appeal to Marshal Wyerl."

"You don't want Waleryn talking to Wyerl, do you? "

"I do not wish Waleryn to spend much time with any of the
marshals, but he should not meet with Wyerl at all. Wyerl sees too
much," Halanat replied. "It is also likely that the overcaptain will
meet with the marshals. We would not wish him to perceive any…
influence, but especially with Wyerl."

"You think the herder overcaptain is that perceptive?"

"More so, I fear, but if he meets with the marshals and sees
nothing…"

"He will not see our influence." Tarolt nodded. "There is also a
good chance he will not be able to surmount Adarat, but if he does,
the disruption will only benefit us, and by then… it will be too late
for him to change what must be. And if he fails, then we have fewer
worries."

"Exactly."
Chapter 4

When Alucius began to herd the flock back down Westridge, the
sun was almost touching the quarasote flats to the west, its green-
gold glare backlighting the stone-walled and slate-roofed buildings
of the stead so that the walls looked almost gray, rather than
reddish, and the roofs black, rather than the dark gray they truly
were. With his Talent, Alucius could sense the web of lifethreads,
the thin black-gray lines of the nightsheep, the yellow-gold of his
mount, and the scattered thin threads that were grayjays and
scrats. With a nod affirming that there were no disruptions in that
web of life, Alucius began moving the flock toward the main shed.

He finished settling the nightsheep into the shed for the night,
having closed and bolted the shed door, then stabled the gray. In
the second stall, he was finishing grooming the gray in the gloom
that was no hindrance, not when herders could see almost as well
in low light or night as in full sunlight. At that moment, Wendra
slipped into the stable.

"How was your day?" he asked, sensing the vital green lifethread
of her presence even before she stepped into sight at the end of
the stall.

"The spinnerets jammed twice. I only lost about a yard of thread
that couldn't be reprocessed. Your mother checked them. They
may last for the summer, but we'll need another set of the control
valves before harvest. If we'd known…"

"You could have had Grandsire order them while he was in town?"

Wendra nodded.

Alucius stepped out of the stall, closed the half door, and hugged
his wife for a long moment, feeling the slight bulge of her abdomen
as he did. "It's always good to see you. I'll be glad when the
spinning's done and you can come out on the stead with me."

"There's still the looming," she pointed out after they released
each other. "And I don't know how much longer I can ride for a full
day."

"Another season, according to Mother, and I can tell if there's a
problem." He laughed. "So can you, remember? And you can
certainly take a day from looming now and again. The fresh air
would be good for the two of you. I know you can't leave the
spinning. The thread's got to be watched all the time." He paused
as he waited for her to step outside the stable. Then he closed and
fastened the door. "How are we doing on the solvents?"

"We should have enough for this year."

"You're letting—"

"Your mother won't let me near them, or even in the processing
rooms."

"Good," Alucius said firmly, taking her arm.

They walked toward the east-facing porch of the stead dwelling.
Alucius looked eastward toward the Aerial Plateau, watching as the
crystals on its high west rim caught the rays of the setting sun.
Directly above the crystals of the Plateau, almost lost in their
radiance, was the small green point of light that was Asterta, the
moon of the ancient horse goddess—or the moon of misery.
Selena, the larger moon, had not yet risen.

"Where up there do you think the hidden city is?" Wendra asked.

"It's somewhere along the western edge, but it could be as far
south as the part near Emal or as far north as opposite
Soulend—or even Eastice. It was cold there, but that could have
been because it's so much higher."

"That's hard to believe," Wendra mused.

It was almost as hard for Alucius, and he'd been the one trapped
there, recovering after nearly being killed by the ifrits, then being
taught by the soarers, so that he could understand and use his
Talent to greater effect. "It is, until…"

"I know." She squeezed his hand.

"What's for supper?"

"Leftovers. We made a fowl casserole from what was left from last
night."

"You didn't let her put—"

Wendra laughed. "There's no prickle in it. Plenty of other leftovers,
but not prickle."

"Thank you."

"I'll remember that."

They made their way up the steps to the porch and to the north
door, and then to the washroom. Alucius used the hand pump to fill
the basin for Wendra, then washed up when she left to finish
helping his mother. He glanced in the mirror, the reflection showing
his silver-gray eyes flecked with green and the dark gray hair that
had been his from birth.

By the time he was washed up, everyone else was seated at the
table, and Alucius hurried to sit down.

"Which of you two?" asked Lucenda, looking at her son and then at
Wendra.

"Wendra," suggested Alucius.

Wendra grinned ruefully at her husband, giving a slight shake to her
head that shivered her lustrous brown hair.

The four bowed their heads.

Wendra spoke clearly. "In the name of the One Who Was, Is, and
Will Be, we thank you for what we have, and for what we have
received, and for this food before us. May this blessing fall upon
both the deserving and the undeserving, and may both strive to do
good in the world and beyond…"

Once she had finished the blessing, Wendra stood and began
serving the fowl casserole onto the platters, handing them out, first
to Royalt, then Lucenda, Alucius, and herself.

"The bread's fresh baked," Lucenda offered. "Wendra said there
ought to be something that wasn't a leftover."

"There wasn't enough for supper, anyway." The younger woman's
eyes sparkled as she looked at Royalt.

"Was hungry when I got back from town," grumped Alucius's
grand-sire. "Long hot ride. Hadn't had anything to eat since
breakfast."

"He did get a half barrel of southern rice," Lucenda said. "That will
help this winter."

"And some of the hard green apples that keep," added Wendra.

"Ferrat had the replacement shear plates ready. Cost two golds for
each." Royalt shook his head. "Last time was only a gold."

"That was almost four years ago," Lucenda pointed out.

"Prices shouldn't double in four years. Kustyl was telling me that a
bunch of growers near-on killed a usurer down in Dekhron. Not the
one who's one of Mairee's cousins, but another fellow. One who
clips coins before lending them."

"That sounds like Ceannon," remarked Lucenda.

"Was him, now that I recall," said Royalt. "Never even had to worry
about usurers before. This union with Lanachrona… was supposed
to keep tariffs and prices down."

"One out of two isn't bad," suggested Lucenda. "The Lord-
Protector has kept our tariffs low."

"That was because of Alucius, wasn't it?" asked Wendra
innocently.

Alucius knew the question wasn't innocent, but a gentle reminder.

Royalt laughed. "She sure sticks up for you, Alucius."

"Who better?" Alucius grinned, but the grin faded. "You think most
prices are up that much?"

"Lot of 'em," Royalt said. "Not too bad for us. Yet. Nightsilk futures
are getting close to twenty-five golds a yard."

That was nearly double the highest prices of two years before, as
Alucius recalled.

"That's fine for us," Lucenda pointed out, "but what about for
people like Kyrial?" She glanced at Wendra.

"It's been hard for Father. Korcler told me that when he loaded the
half barrels last week. Coopers don't have people coming from
Tempre and Borlan to buy their barrels. Korcler did say that Father
had someone who was inquiring, though." She paused. "If it
weren't for Mother's sewing…"

Alucius nodded. He and Wendra had slipped some golds to
Clerynda—Wendra's mother—but with the price of solvents and
machinery and equipment rising, there was a limit to what they
could do—and might be able to do in the future.

"Don't see why all this is happening," Royalt said. "No wars, no
fighting. Been a little dry the past two years, but we've seen
worse."

"Little things adding up?" asked Alucius.

"Could be," admitted the older man. "Kustyl said that tin ingots
were double what they used to be—have to get those from
Lustrea—and the purple dyes from Dramuria are way up, too.
Kustyl thinks something strange is going on with the traders in
Dekhron."

"Grandpa Kustyl always worries about Dekhron," Wendra pointed
out.

"That's because there's a lot to worry about," said Alucius. "If not
with the traders, then with Colonel Weslyn."

"You've never liked Weslyn, have you?" asked Royalt.

"Not really."

"Kustyl's not even that kind to him," replied Royalt. "Calls him a
sneak. Says he smiles to your face and then poisons your ale.
Always thought he was behind Clyon's death."

"I don't think he had anything to do with it, except indirectly,"
Alucius replied. "He's too much of a coward. Someone else had
Clyon poisoned once Weslyn became the deputy commander
because they knew Weslyn wouldn't do anything to upset
anyone—especially the traders."

"That'd make sense. That way, no one could challenge him
because he wasn't involved in Clyon's death. Then, if someone
else had been deputy commander…"

"The militia had Dysar before him. You think he would have been
any better?"

Royalt shook his head. "Traders like Ostar owned Dysar fleece
and horns. Same way they do Weslyn."

"Didn't something happen to Ostar?"

"He died, like a lot of traders in the past couple of years—fires,
illnesses, something like seven or eight. Ostar was one of 'em. In
fact, most of those who liked Dysar are dead. They liked Weslyn,
too. That's what Kustyl and I can't reckon."

"Is there anyone left?"

"Of the older ones? Tarolt, I think, and his nephew Halanat.
Halanat's more like the age of Kyrial, though."

"You know either?"

"Only by name. Kustyl said he met Halanat years back. Didn't like
him then. Didn't see any reason to see him again."

Alucius laughed.

"Can we stop talking about how corrupt Dekhron is?" asked
Lucenda. "We can't do much about it tonight. There's still half a pie
left from last night." Without waiting for an answer, she began to cut
slices until she had cut the remaining apple pie into four equal
sections, then passed them out on the smaller plates.

After a mouthful of the pie, Wendra looked up. "Grandpa Kustyl
stopped by today."

Alucius took a swallow of ale, then grinned. "He stops by more now
than he used to."

"He wants to make sure his granddaughter is taking care of
herself," Lucenda said. "He's still surprised that she turned out to
be a true herder."

"And now he's watching me like a prize ewe," Wendra added. "All
of you were the ones who saw I was a herder. Not him."

"It was Alucius," Royalt said. "Told me to take you out on the
stead."

"I'm glad I did," Alucius said.

"Don't take too much credit," Lucenda suggested.

Rather than answer that, Alucius took another bite of pie.

"You see the soarer again?" asked Royalt after a moment.

"I only saw her that one time, a week back," Alucius said.

"Used to look forward to seeing them. Now… don't know as I do,"
replied the older man. "Wouldn't want to see them gone, though.
Don't see as many sanders, either."

"There's a connection there," Alucius observed.

"You keep saying that," Lucenda said, "but you've never said what
it is."

"That's because—as I also keep saying—I don't know. There are a
few things I don't know."

"That's good to hear," Royalt quipped dryly. "Beginning to think
you're taking yourself too serious-like."

Alucius flushed.
Chapter 5

The Duarchy lasted twice five hundred years, and for all those
ages its eternastone high roads crossed Corns from north to south
and east to west, saving only the Aerial Plateau and the Anvils of
Hel. Great carriages slipped along the roads, drawn by the tireless
sandoxes. The traders' wagons followed, also pulled by sandoxes,
filled with goods of every imaginable type—black nightsilk from the
north of Eastice, smoothed lorken planks from Harm and Fola, the
sparkling and still wines of Vyan, and the tapestries of far and fair
Alustre.

The Myrmidons of Duality swept through the skies on their
pteridons, carrying messages and dispatches from one end of
Corus to the other, searching out rogue soarers and dispatching
them to keep the skies and the ground beneath those skies safe
for all. The Alectors of Justice reigned over each city, town, and
hamlet, and kept the peace so that each man, each woman, and all
children could walk every lane and road, every grove and grotto,
and never fear for their safety. The Cadmians used their lightning-
jagged blades against the barbarians of the isles and against
lesser wrongdoers. The dolphin ships of the Duadmiralty kept the
oceans and the coasts free from strife, piracy, and depredations.

The sun shined out of a silver-green sky and blessed the Duarchy
and all its peoples under the dual scepters.

Then… in less than an instant, the Cataclysm struck Corus, and, in
a season or less, the sandoxes sickened and vanished. The
pteridons shriveled into less than dust and vanished. The rivers ran
red with blood. Ice flowed from the skies. The air that had been so
fair, and perfumed, became as thin and as acrid as vinegar.
Streams dried in their beds, rivers in their courses, never to flow
again.

Winds swept from the Aerial Plateau with such force that all the
trees to the south of the Black Cliffs were felled in a single
afternoon and buried, leaving but the Moors of Yesterday. The
vales of prosperity became the Sloughs of Despondency.

Fair Elcien, the western capital, sank a hundred yards into the
Bright Bay, leaving but the tips of the towers above the mud that
covered all.

Warm and lively Ludar, the southern capital, vanished beneath the
waters in an instant, and none living there were ever seen again,
nor were any of the walls and towers and parks…

Excerpt from:

Mantra of Mourning
Chapter 6

On Duadi, Wendra drove the team to Iron Stem while Alucius sat in
the wagon seat beside her, watching the high road and the
quarasote flats beside it. The heavy rifle was in the holder beside
him. Whenever he saw the gray eternastones of the road, he had
to marvel, and wonder, at the magic technology of the ancients—or
the ifrits—that had created those stones, which were harder than
almost any substance and which, if scarred, repaired themselves
over time.

"You're thinking about the road, aren't you?" asked Wendra with a
smile.

"Because I always do? There's something about it."

"It's alive, in a way, I think," she replied.

"You've never said that before."

"I hadn't thought about it."

What would make a road alive? He thought about the great high
roads, especially the one through the Upper Spine Mountains into
Deforya, where the ancients had cut through the very rocks of the
mountains and formed a perfectly straight and unnatural canyon to
carry the high road. Abruptly, he wanted to kick himself, or pound
his head. It was just that he'd never considered the thought that the
high road might have a form of life. But once he realized that, and
what the soarer had taught him, the rest fit.

"You're upset—or worried," Wendra said. "I can feel it."

"You remember how I told you about how dead some of the lands
were, especially in Deforya? That's where they have the great long
high road, and that canyon—"

"Oh!" Wendra's hand went to her mouth. "You think that they—"

"I couldn't prove it, but I'd wager that the ifrits sucked the very life
out of the land and poured it into the road. They couldn't do it
everywhere, or even very many places, but I'd wager that, if we
looked, we'd find patches and places along the sides of the high
roads that are still dead, or once were dead and still have only a
little life."

"They'd do that?"

"What do you think?" Alucius gestured to the ancient spire of the
tower ahead, its brilliant green stone facing visible over the low hills
from several vingts to the north. "How else could they create
structures that held together for so long? If you look at the high
roads at night with Talent, you can see the glow. I just didn't think of
them in that way." He should have, but who would have thought that
anyone would squander lifeforces that way—or had that ability?

"Why would you?" asked Wendra. "We don't think that way."

Alucius just shook his head, wondering what else that obvious he
had missed. He also still worried about the appearance of the
soarer.

Before long, past several low rises, the warrens of the long
wooden sheds of the dustcat works appeared on the east side of
the road, sheds all sealed to the outside so that the dustcat
dander, worth more than its weight in gems for the sensations it
provided, could not escape.

"Have you ever seen Alyna?" asked Alucius.

"No. I still can't believe she agreed to be a scutter. She seemed
brighter than that. Even the pleasure palace would be better than
working the dustcats for Gortal. But she knew better." Wendra
sighed. "How anyone…" Her words died away.

After passing the dustcat works, Wendra guided the wagon along
the road toward the empty green stone tower and the lower
building just south of it. The tower walls had remained intact,
seemingly pristine and untouched, not by choice, since building
materials were rare in Iron Stem, but because the ancients—rather
the ifrits, Alucius knew—had used a lost technique to bond all the
exterior stones together, a technique resistant to chisels, mauls,
hammers, and even those with the Talent. Whether the interior had
not been so protected or whether it had always been empty,
Alucius did not know, only that similar towers rose all across Corus,
all with vacant interiors, even without steps or interior levels. What
remained of the tower was a hollow shell that rose, uselessly,
nearly a hundred yards into the silver-green sky.

The pleasure palace, dubbed such generations before, was a low
stone structure. The long-dead builders, some centuries back, had
attempted to create a pattern in the walls by alternating those
stones with the bonded blue finish with those of green.
Unfortunately, after five courses of stone, they had run out of the
green-faced building stones and had then used interior stones
faced with yellow to alternate with the blue stones. Where the
stones had come from, no one alive knew. Over the years that had
followed, the yellow had faded into a sickly and uneven beige, but
the blue and green had not.

As early as it was in the morning, the hitching rail outside the
pleasure palace had no mounts tethered there, and the palace
itself was still. Wendra drove the wagon past the empty vingt or
more separating the pleasure palace from the nearest dwellings
straight into Iron Stem, and then past the metal shop and its
thundering hammermill, with the smell of hot iron drifting across the
road and thin white smoke rising from the forge chimney.

The buildings surrounding the central square were all of two and
three stories, and although mainly boardinghouses, were
moderately well kept, if one ignored the peeling paint on shutters
and doors. On the west side of the square were the coopers, the
chandlery, the silversmith's. On the adjoining corner was the inn, its
blue-painted sign an outline of the long-vanished mining mill.

Wendra eased the team up to her father's cooperage, and Alucius
jumped down and tied the horses to the post just short of the
loading dock. Then the two of them entered the building, stepping
into the mixed odors of oils, varnishes, and wood.

"Wendra! Alucius!" exclaimed Kyrial, beaming at his daughter. "Its
good to see you both. I'd thought Lucenda might be the one
picking up the barrels."

"Grandsire and Mother were kind enough to let us drive in together
and handle the buying," Alucius explained.

Clerynda burst from the back room, bustling toward her daughter.
"Wendra! Let me see you!"

Wendra flushed. "I'm fine."

"I know you are. You have that glow. I do hope he's a boy."

"She's a girl," Alucius said, "and she'll be a herder like her mother."

For a moment, Clerynda was silent. Then she smiled and shook
her head. "Herders. You take all the surprise out of it."

Kyrial just grinned. "I wouldn't say that. The two of them just come
up with different surprises."

"You look pleased, Father," observed Wendra, clearly trying to
change the subject.

Kyrial smiled at his daughter. "And well I should be, Wendra, after
the order I received yesterday. Fifty of the best oak barrels. Fifty!"

"Who could order that many?"

"A fellow acting as a broker for a group of traders in Dekhron.
Came up with half the cost in hard golds."

"Your reputation is finally spreading, Father," offered Wendra.

"Does that mean you'll be delayed in getting us the solvent
barrels?" Alucius's tone was humorous.

"Sanders, no. Yours are almost done, and your family has been my
steadiest customer for years. The traders aren't asking for the first
group for another two weeks, and Korcler's become a great help."
Kyrial glanced at the youth who was half inside an oaken barrel,
deftly using a curved plane to touch up the inside of the staves.

Korcler extricated himself and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Wendra.
I just was afraid I'd lose track of where I was if I didn't finish."

"That's all right."

"The five full barrels are ready. They're the ones by the loading
door," Kyrial said. "We'll have the half barrels and quarter barrels
ready by a week from Quattri."

"Might as well get them into the wagon." Alucius turned.

"I'll help," offered Korcler. "Wendra shouldn't—"

"I'm not made of porcelain," Wendra replied. "Not for another
season or two, anyway."

In the end, Korcler, Alucius, and Wendra loaded the wagon.

After the barrels were roped in place, Alucius and Wendra walked
back toward the square to see what produce might be available.
After they bought what they could find, they would need to drive out
to the miller's.

As they walked away from the cooperage, Wendra said, "Father
was pleased."

"I can see why," Alucius said. "Has he ever had such an order?"

"Not that I know, not in at least five years, and possibly ten."

"You were keeping the books before we were married, and you
saw all the records?"

"Most of them. Sometimes, I'd check back to see how Mother had
written in sales, especially if it happened to be something I hadn't
seen." Wendra looked to Alucius. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"I shouldn't be, but I am. I can't help but wonder why he got such
an order now. It could be a coincidence, I suppose."

"You don't think so."

"No. But I have no reason to think otherwise," Alucius admitted.
After a moment, he smiled. "Let's see if they have any of the late
peaches. Grandsire would like those."

"And you wouldn't at all?"

Alucius flushed, then shrugged helplessly.

Wendra leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek.
Chapter 7
Hieron, Madrien

The unclad redheaded woman looked at the circle of goldenstone
floor tiles, ringed with black. Within the circle was a misty
column—its pinkish purple barely visible. The gold-and-black circle
stood out starkly against the muted green tiles of the rest of the
bedchamber floor.

She took a deep breath. Then, convulsively, she took one step,
and another, to place herself in the center of the black-tiled circle,
forcing herself through an unseen barrier. Immediately, her entire
body twisted, as if being pummeled by unseen blows. Welts
appeared on her pale, freckled skin, then bruises. Her breath came
in gasps, but she remained within the circle for a time, her limbs
lifted and turned like a marionette's.

A good quarter glass passed before she forced her way from the
circle, where she stood, slumped, breathing rapidly, outside the
black tile line.

Even before she slowly walked to the dressing room, the bruises
that had covered her skin began to fade—as did the freckles. By
the time she stopped before the full-length mirror and took in her
reflection, her skin was close to alabaster white and unmarked. Her
formerly blue eyes were a bluish violet, and her red hair had
darkened to a deep mahogany that was more like red-tinged black.
A cold and triumphant smile crossed her lips. "It worked," she
murmured. "The old tablets were right. Regent in name only from
now on."

Stepping away from the mirror, she began to don the clothing she
had laid out earlier, ending with the violet tunic and trousers, the
black boots, and, last, the emerald necklace.
Chapter 8

Alucius stood in the shadows beside a long purple hanging draped
from a stone pillar that was golden throughout—not merely gilded.
Overhead, at least fifty yards above, arched a ceiling of pink
marble, so precisely fitted that even his Talent could detect no sign
of a join or of mortar. The same pink marble comprised the walls.
Stretching a hundred yards to his right, the floor of the hall was of
octagonal sections of polished gold and green marble, each
section of green marble inset with an eight-pointed star of golden
marble, the narrow arms of the star outlined in a thin line of brilliant
metal that was neither gold nor brass.

A man stood on the dais, a tall figure with flawless alabaster skin,
shimmering black hair, and deep violet eyes. He wore a tunic of
brilliant green, trimmed in a deep purple, with matching trousers.
His black boots were so highly polished that they appeared
metallic.

Two smaller figures—a man and a woman—stood before him as
he spoke. They looked like children in comparison to him, though
neither was short.

Alucius listened.

"You understand nothing. More than two thousand years have
passed since we departed, and you have built nothing that rivals
what we left. Even with the dual scepters we left, and the libraries
and the Tables, you have learned nothing. You squabble among
yourselves like spoiled children. All around you were wonders, and
from them you have only found ways to squander your lives."

The man lifted his head and spoke, but Alucius could not hear his
words.

The ifrit in green laughed, long, melodiously, then shook his head.
"There is no such thing as inherent 'right' or justice among all the
worlds of the universe. The universe does not care. Its rules
reward survival—and power. If you would have what you call
justice, you must have the strength and the will to create it and to
enforce it."

The woman spoke, and again Alucius could not hear the words.

The ifrit smiled, condescendingly, before replying. "We create
grandeur and beauty, and grace. We create peerless art where
there was none before. Out of mud and squalor we build such as
you see. There is a price for everything. A world can live forever
and be nothing—or it can become a paragon of splendor and
art—and shine in brilliance for a shorter time."

The man said a few words.

"You had the chances, and you did not take them. You, like all your
kind, squandered what you were given. It takes more than luck and
pedestrian skill to bring your will to bear, to change what is
degradation and squalor into valor and splendor. That is especially
true in a world of petty and jealous men. You had the choice
between being the child of the Duarchy, the one who would restore
it, or the lamaial. You chose neither path, and that is a choice to do
nothing… and nothing accomplishes nothing…"

Then, the great hall began to spin, and the walls began to move,
closing in… tighter… and tighter…

Alucius sat up in the double-width bed, shivering, sweating
profusely. After a moment, he blotted his steaming face.

Wendra put her hand on his shoulder. "It was only a dream. Only a
dream."

"It was one of those dreams," Alucius said hoarsely. "One where
an ifrit was explaining how we—I—had failed. I haven't had one of
those… not since… the hidden city, and before."

"It was only a dream…" But Wendra's voice did not hold certainty.
Chapter 9

Alucius and Wendra rode downhill, eastward into the gray or a late
summer morning before dawn, a grayness that would soon be
flooded with the golden green sun of dawn against a silver-green
sky.

To the west, the half-disc of Selena was paling as the sky
lightened.

Asterta had long since set. The flock had not spread that much so
far, and that meant that, for the moment, they could ride close to
each other. Before long there would be nightrams investigating
away from the flock, and ewes and younger nightsheep browsing
and straggling, while the farther they traveled from the stead, the
greater was the likelihood of sand-wolves and sanders.

Alucius looked at Wendra and couldn't help smiling.

She turned. "I like it when you look at me that way."

"I'm glad." Then, he'd looked at her that way for years, ever since
he'd seen her serving ale and punch at a gathering on the porch of
her grandsire's stead.

They rode for another hundred yards before Alucius guided his
gray closer to Wendra's chestnut. "You know how I talked about
doing something to the cartridges we used against the wild
pteridons," Alucius said. "I mean when I was coming back from
Deforya."

"You told me," Wendra replied. "We'd talked about it, and how the
soarer had showed me something like that. You haven't talked
about that in over a year. Why do you bring it up now? Was it the
dream?"

"The last time I had dreams like that was before I ran into the ifrits."

"You think they might reappear?"

"I don't know. If they do, or if we see wild Talent-creatures… I
wanted to make sure you knew how to fight them off."

"I already did… remember?"

"I know," he said. "But… I'm worried. I should have gone over it
with you before. That way I'd know, and it would be something I
wouldn't fret about as much." Alucius frowned, then continued,
"When I think about it, it bothers me, though."

"Because we're using lifeforce?"

"Yes. It doesn't take that much, and we can draw a little from
everywhere. At least, I think—I hope—that's what I did."

"Show me. I'll watch." Wendra glanced forward at the flock, then
back at Alucius.

Alucius extracted a cartridge from the Northern Guard belt he had
taken out that morning—for the first time in years. He held up the
cartridge. Then he began to infuse it with the same kind of
darkness that had brought down the pteridons so many years
before. Once he felt that the cartridge was charged, he leaned
toward Wendra and handed it to her.

She studied it, then handed it back. "It didn't seem to take much."

He passed a second cartridge to her. "You try."

Wendra took the cartridge. Seemingly effortlessly, she eased the
darkness of lifeforce into the bullet, even making sure that none
was wasted in the area of casing and powder.

"Have you been practicing that?"

"Me?" The corners of her mouth quirked. "Only a few times."

Alucius shook his head. "I didn't need to worry about that."

"I'm glad that you worry. I just don't want you to worry too much."

He laughed. "You're very good at salving my pride."

She grinned. "You're good at recognizing it."

Alucius couldn't help but smile in return, even as he hoped that she
wouldn't need the skill with the cartridges anytime soon. Unhappily,
he had the feeling that was a vain hope.

The slightest frown crossed his brow.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Wendra.

"No. I was just wondering. About the darkness. I'm drawing it. So
are you."

"Do you feel that we're taking it from something living? Can you tell
if there's any lifeforce missing from around us?" asked Wendra.

Alucius studied the area around them and around the flock. He
could not feel any difference. Then, he worked on infusing the
cartridge in the rifle's firing chamber with the lifeforce darkness,
trying to sense from where he was drawing that darkness.

"It's coming from everywhere, a little bit from everywhere,"
observed Wendra. "I'll try it again, and you watch."

As Wendra charged another cartridge, Alucius observed.

"From what I can feel," he said, "you're right."

"So that means you shouldn't worry. Not too much. I'd wager that
some of that lifeforce regenerates itself within a few days, just like
we do when we work hard and get tired, then sleep and eat and
feel better."

Alucius glanced at the lead nightram, but the flock had not spread
too much. He looked back, but the trailing ewes weren't straggling
that much, not yet. "But the Talent-creatures sucked it right out of
everything. Or they seemed to."

"Could that be because they're not from Corus? They're not linked
to the land the way we are, or the way anything that grows here is."

"It must be." Her suggestion made sense, and he couldn't think of
a better explanation. That also might be why there were so few
ifrits. But the soarer had suggested that there had once been far
more, hundreds of them, if not thousands.

Alucius shivered at the thought of ifrits and the wild Talent-
creatures from elsewhere sucking the very life out of Corus. Yet…
at the moment, what could he do? He didn't even know if there
would be more of the creatures appearing in Corus… or where that
might happen. There was certainly no reason for them to appear
on the stead, not that he knew of.

"You look worried."

"I was just thinking about the ifrits. Not that there's anything we can
do now." He looked forward, then stood in the stirrups. "One of the
young rams has headed off. You want to check the stragglers?"

"I'll take care of them."

Alucius eased the gray forward. Talk of ifrits and Talent-force
would have to wait.
Chapter 10
Tempre, Lanachrona

The warm golden light of late afternoon poured through the west-
facing window of the Southern Guard headquarters building. Three
men sat around a modest circular table. The bare tabletop was
inlaid with the design of a plumapple flower, and the single central
pedestal leg was of aged and golden oak. The two older men wore
the blue-and-cream uniforms of the Southern Guard.

The third man, younger and stockier, wore a maroon tunic cut
conservatively, trimmed in black. His dark hair was smoothed back
from his pale white face, and his brown eyes looked from one
officer to the other. "I had heard that there has been… some
unrest in Hyalt. When I heard that, I requested a few moments with
you."

The blond marshal raised his eyebrows. "You seemed to know of
the… unrest in Hyalt nearly as soon as we did, Lord Waleryn."

"I have my sources, Marshal."

"And what would you have of us?" asked the darker marshal, his
right eye twitching twice. "Congratulations on those sources?"

"Congratulations on mere competence, Marshal Frynkel? That
would be vain, would it not?" Waleryn smiled ruefully. "No… you
can believe it or not, but I am concerned about Lanachrona. That is
why I asked to see you both."

Neither marshal bothered to conceal a look of disbelief.

Waleryn laughed. "You see? Now… if you most worthy officers
have that view of my concerns, how then would my brother the
Lord-Protector feel about what I am about to say? Assuming that
he would even grant me an audience?"

"Under the circumstances, perhaps we should hear your words
first," suggested Alyniat. "If you would care to enlighten us?" The
fingers of his left hand tapped slowly on the wood of the
conference table.

"My brother is far more noble than I am. All know that. At times, he
might even be too noble." Waleryn shook his head. "I am not going
to suggest anything ignoble. I do know that your forces are hard-
pressed, and that the Northern Guard can offer little help to the
Southern Guard. Nor will increased recruiting or conscription
provide sufficient lancers and foot, not in time to deal with the
unrest in Hyalt. Nor are there any mercenaries trustworthy enough
to hire, even were there coins enough to pay them. Is this not
true?"

"Generally," admitted Alyniat, "but should you repeat that, under the
circumstances, we will deny such."

"I am not playing with words, worthy Marshals. I do not intend to
use words to wound or to cause my brother or Lanachrona trouble.
It has occurred to me that there is a way to deal with the unrest in
Hyalt that will not weaken our forces defending Southgate and the
southwest or those charged with defending Harmony."

"Oh?" Frynkel's single word expressed great doubt. The tic in his
right eye twitched again.

Alyniat did not bother to speak, but his finger tapping slowed.

"My brother would not think of such, and you will see why when I
explain. You may recall a certain overcaptain of the Northern
Guard… the one who defeated ten thousand nomad barbarians
with but five companies, taking over command when all above him
perished?"

"Overcaptain Alucius? The Lord-Protector released him from duty
in gratitude. He cannot be called back."

"What you say is absolutely correct, Marshal. But… what if he were
requested to return to duty? As a favor to the Lord-Protector.
Perhaps promoted to majer."

"Why would he do that?"

Waleryn smiled. "Because… if the Southern Guard must deal with
Hyalt, the defenses of Lanachrona against the Regent of the
Matrial will be weakened. Already, the Northern Guard is hard-
pressed. There are not enough young men left in the Iron Valleys
for more companies to be raised, not without weakening the
merchants and crafters and breaking the promises the Lord-
Protector has made. Now… I am not suggesting that the Lord-
Protector break those promises. That would be most unwise, for
many reasons. But surely, someone could suggest to the herder
overcaptain that the Lord-Protector faces an impossible
situation…"

Alyniat looked to Frynkel. The junior marshal nodded slightly.

"All we can say, Lord Waleryn," Alyniat said, "is that we will
consider your suggestion. If upon consideration we find it has
merit, we will bring it to the attention of Marshal Wyerl."

Waleryn bowed. "That is all that I could ask, Marshals, and all I
sought. I trust you understand why I brought it to you. I wanted the
idea considered on its merits, not upon whether it was good or bad
because of its source."

"We will consider it," Alyniat repeated.

After another bow, Waleryn turned and departed.

"What do you think?" Alyniat asked after the door to the study had
closed behind the departing lord.

"I worry about his sources. I would that we knew who they are."

"You think they're the ones supplying information to the Regent of
the Matrial?"

"They might be. They might not be. We don't know." Frynkel
shrugged. He placed the edge of his palm against his right eye for
a long moment. "And Waleryn makes a crooked road look direct.
That's true. But… he's right about our situation. If anything, it is
more difficult than he has said."

Alyniat glanced toward the window and the sun low in the west.
"The other thing is that Overcaptain Alucius is known to be not only
an excellent commander, but one who can train lancers well and
quickly. We could perhaps include some partly trained companies
in his force…"

"You'd have to give him his own company back. Under him, that is."

"They'd probably be happy to serve under him."

"But would he agree to serve? Even as a majer?"

"He's not stupid. If his choice is to protect the Iron Valleys by
serving or let them fall to the Regent, after what he's been through,
he'll agree. He may not like it, but he will."

"What about the Lord-Protector? How do we convince him?"

"We don't have to." Alyniat laughed. "Wyerl has to. We just have to
give Wyerl the reasons to present to the Lord-Protector."

Frynkel laughed as well, but there was an ironic bitterness in the
sound.
Chapter 11

After the trip that Alucius and Wendra had made into Iron Stem,
another week passed, ten long days on the stead, and Tridi
dawned gray and colder than normal, more like late harvest or even
fall, with gray clouds swirling in from the north, racing straight south
from the Ice Sands and the Moors of Yesterday, clouds filled with
water thrown as spray against the Black Cliffs of Despair and
picked up by the winds. Only once had Wendra ridden out with
Alucius, and the end of summer and the beginning of harvest
loomed less than two weeks away.

As Alucius rode the gelding away from the stead and to the
northeast up the long and gentle slope of Westridge, he found it
hard to believe that more than two weeks had passed since he had
seen the soarer. He had also not seen or sensed any signs of
sanders, and, according to Kustyl, neither had anyone else.

Not only was he worried about what the soarer meant, but also
about the dream he had had. While he did not trust anything about
the ifrits, the words of the dream bothered him. Had he
squandered time when he should have been doing something? But
what? He couldn't very well have ridden across all Corus, using his
Talent to see if people were ifrit-possessed. He had neither the
time nor the golds to try such. It was not as though he possessed
one of the ancient Tables, even had he dared to risk its dangers.

Because stormy weather sometimes emboldened the sandwolves,
Alucius had taken two rifles with him, using the double saddle case
he hadn't used more than a handful of times since he'd left the
Northern Guard. He hoped he didn't have to use the rifles, but he'd
rather carry them than worry because he hadn't brought them.

Once more, he studied the Plateau, then the lower hills to the north.
So far, the wind was little more than a mild breeze, but the dark
clouds moving in from the north suggested that before long that
would change. Still, it was summer, and he couldn't afford not to
graze the nightsheep, not when they needed the quarasote to
produce premium nightsilk.

The wind continued mild, even after he had the flock on the eastern
downslope of Westridge and headed due east through the section
that had not been grazed for nearly a month. He kept the flock
moving until they had covered another four vingts from the eastern
edge of the long, low ridge. All the time, Alucius checked the
clouds—and the wind—both with his senses and his Talent.

The flock had not been grazing the more recent, if not fresh,
quarasote shoots for more than half a glass when the lead
nightram lifted his head. Alucius could feel the animal's
apprehension and eased the gelding forward. The gray picked his
path carefully through the widely spaced quarasote bushes. While
the shoots were flexible enough, the spikes at the base of those
shoots could rip through hide and flesh.

Another nightram raised his head, as did several ewes. The
subordinate males eased forward, shoulder to shoulder, to stand
beside the leader, ready to lower their horns. The ewes edged in
behind the rams, nudging the lambs to the center.

A gust of colder wind swept in from the north, then died away, but
the calm lasted for only a few long moments before the chill gusts
resumed, and the sky continued to darken as the clouds massed
overhead and thickened.

Should he have turned back? Usually, Alucius could sense storms
as violent as this one promised to be. Had he misjudged the
incoming weather because of his concerns? Or was it just a Talent-
spawned freak storm?

A low, almost bugling call issued from the lead ram.

Alucius could feel the presence of the sandwolves, the grayish
violet rising from the south, as solid to his Talent as the wind upon
his face. He turned the gray southward, toward the rear of the flock.
A sudden gust of wind swirled gritty dust at the herder, but Alucius
eased the gelding onward, back toward the stragglers at the rear.
He slipped out the top rifle and cocked it as he continued to survey
the land to the south and east.

Behind the swirling dust and grit, more than a half vingt to the east,
the shifting shadows that were the sandwolves edged through the
quarasote bushes as if it were twilight or dawn rather than just
midmorning. Their long, crystal fangs glittered, even though there
was no direct light.

Stop! Alucius threw the command out toward the nearing pack.

Several of the animals seemed to shiver, and one whimpered,
dropping flat beside the silvered leaves of a third-year quarasote.

The pack leader slowed, but continued to move toward the flock.
After a moment, the others followed, if more cautiously.

Danger! Stop!

Alucius could sense a whimper somewhere, as if his order had
caused pain, but the pack, eight animals in all, continued to close
on the night-sheep.

A young ram appeared, interposing himself between one of the
flanking sandwolves and a ewe, and, without even pawing the
ground, charged the sandwolf. Caught off guard by the unexpected
move, the sandwolf—a younger animal than the pack leader—tried
to dodge, but he was too slow, and the razored black horns of the
nightram slashed deeply into his chest. The sandwolf staggered,
and his legs collapsed.

In the moment of silence, Alucius lifted the rifle, sighting in on the
pack leader.

Crack! The bullet slammed into the lead wolf's chest.

Crack! The second shot took another sandwolf, and Alucius
recocked the rifle and aimed toward the next most visible stalker.
Crack!

The third sandwolf dropped, then rolled and tried to struggle to its
feet.

A wave of hatred, bloodlust, rage, fear—all those feelings and
more—surged around the herder. The gray gelding sidestepped,
then whuffed, then took a step back.

A long howl rose from somewhere, and Alucius could feel the pack
stopping, if reluctantly.

"Easy there… easy…" Alucius had already recocked the rifle.

Abruptly, dark forms were flowing through the quarasote
bushes—toward Alucius and his flock. Shapes like sanders, but
not sanders. Talent-tinged shapes, shadowed in unseen purple and
blue and without lifethreads.

Alucius paused just long enough to cast darkness around the
remaining cartridges in his magazine before firing twice more.
Each of the dark sanderlike figures he hit burst into the all-
consuming blue flame he had seen only twice before—in Deforya
and when leaving it.

He switched rifles and, infusing another set of cartridges with the
darkness of life, quickly emptied the second. There remained only
a single dark sander, which charged toward Alucius.

The herder jammed the rifle into the holder right-handed and drew
the sabre with his left. As he leaned forward, he extended Talent
around the blade, a darkness of green and gold, and slashed.

The shock of impact was as though he had struck stone, and his
entire arm vibrated.

The dark sander seemed to shrivel.

Alucius urged the gray past the shrinking pillar of darkness, quickly
enough that the blast of heat from the fire that followed only
warmed him.

As the fires vanished, leaving only an oily residue on the sandy red
soil, Alucius checked the flock over. One ewe—the last
straggler—lay dead. So did the young sandwolf that had been
caught by the younger nightram, Alucius wondered if the younger
ram had been one of Lamb's offspring.

He turned his eyes back to the ewe's body, caught by the sudden
stench rising and drifting toward him. The corpse began to
decompose, turning putrid even as he watched. Then, the body
flared into a blue-tinged flame, and soon all that was left was oily
black residue.

Alucius turned the gray, heading back toward the front of the flock,
and scanned the quarasote flats with his Talent and his eyes. He
could detect nothing. Even the sandwolves had slithered
away—uncharacteristically leaving behind the bodies of those
Alucius and the nightram had slain. He glanced down at the black
crystal of the silver-framed herder's wristguard, but the wristband
was neither warmer nor colder than usual. He had to wonder if
Wendra had felt anything through the ring she wore that was
attuned to his wristguard.

Thunder rolled overhead, and the sky darkened even more. Tiny
needlelike droplets of rain began to fall, slashing out of the
lowering clouds almost horizontally. Alucius squinted against the
rain, wishing he had foreseen the violence of the storm.

The herder glanced from side to side, squinting through the wind
and rain that had already begun to die away. Above him, the once-
dark clouds were thinning rapidly, revealing a clear silver-green
sky.

Alucius continued to study the ground, then the bushes stretching
to the southeast, with a side glance at the low wash where the
wolves had vanished, and reloaded the first rifle, then the second.

In all his years of herding, he'd never seen anything close to what
had just occurred. Not in herding—only in the battles against the
pteridons of Aellyan Edyss and the Talent-creatures that had
attacked his forces in leaving Deforya.

He moistened his lips.

The attack made no sense whatsoever. If the ifrits were beginning
another assault on Corus, why would they attack him? Why would
they alert one of the few herders with true Talent to their actions?
Or was the assault so far along that they could not control the
appearance of the Talent-creatures ?

Alucius didn't want to leave the stead. He didn't know where he
could go to stop such an attack, and there wasn't anyone to whom
he could turn for help—except his family—and for them all to leave
the stead would likely ruin them all. He and Wendra might be able
to leave… if they knew where to go—and what to do. Except
Wendra was pregnant, and Alucius hated the thought of asking her
to go anywhere into even greater danger.

Above him, the sky continued to clear.

Alucius looked to the east, to the Aerial Plateau, but he neither saw
nor felt the green radiance of a soarer… or anything else out of the
ordinary.
Chapter 12
Tempre, Lanachrona

The Lord-Protector looked down on the infant in the high-sided
crib, sleeping peacefully. A smile crossed his face, and the lines in
his forehead eased as he watched his son. Silently, he eased out
of the nursery and back to the main sitting room, where his consort
waited, seated at her writing desk. "He's sleeping," he said.

"I told you he was sleeping." Alerya's voice was firm, but musical.
"You're worrying a great deal. About your brother, still? Or the
Regent of the Matrial? Or about this little revolt in Hyalt? Or is it
something else?"

"About everything. Wouldn't you? Waleryn was plotting with Enyll,
and he pleaded illness to avoid speaking with me for almost two
months after the overcaptain killed Enyll and destroyed the Table.
Waleryn still avoids me whenever he can. With the Table
destroyed, no longer can I see what is happening as it does or
nearly immediately. I've been reduced to receiving written reports
weeks and months after events have taken place. Most of the time,
it's too late to do anything. Half of what I write, it seems, finds its
way to the Regent. Then, there's this revolt in Hyalt. It may be small
so far, but there was no warning, and unless I do something, it will
just get worse. There seem to be more of these True Duarchists
everywhere, I've heard that there's another group in the hills east of
Syan, but no one knows exactly where. And where am I going to
find the forces to put down the trouble in Hyalt? Or Syan, if it
spreads? If I take any companies from around Southgate, the
Regent could retake Southgate. Yet I know nothing until it's too
late."

"You miss the knowledge of the Table, don't you? And you have
begun to doubt what the overcaptain told you."

"I don't doubt what he said. Or what he did. But why is it that the
most useful tools are always the most dangerous? I know that Enyll
would have killed us."

"Do you, Talryn? Or are you saying that to convince yourself?"

The Lord-Protector sighed. "Both, I guess. Without the Table, and
with this revolt, and against the crystal spear-throwers of
Madrien—how they managed to build two, I don't know—we're
going to have to come to terms that aren't ideal—and quickly.
Unless…" He shook his head.

"Unless what?"

"Wyerl suggested that I request that Overcaptain Alucius return to
the Northern Guard. Make him a majer, at least. With one of his
former companies and several partly trained companies of
Southern Guards, he could handle the revolt."

"Why would he do that?" asked Alerya. "He wanted to go back to
being a herder."

"Well… if I have to shift lancers to Hyalt, the Northern Guard is
already having trouble holding its ground in the north…"

"Talryn! That's blackmail."

"It's true, though. I can't raise any more lancers in the Iron Valleys.
Nor that many more in the rest of Lanachrona. We've conscripted
everyone that we can. I'd be hard-pressed to pay for mercenaries,
even if I could find any I could trust. What am I supposed to do?"

"Do you honestly think that the Regent of the Matrial—"

"Yes. We are stretched too thin, and it's not just Madrien. It's
everything. The Dramurans attacked one of our vessels porting at
Southgate. I just got that dispatch this morning. This afternoon I
found out that the landowners of Deforya have overthrown the
Landarch and replaced him with a Council of Five. They've
decided to increase the road tariffs to Lustrea by half again. The
Landarch was too accommodating to the needs of others, this new
Council claims. What they meant was that they don't want to pay for
anything themselves and keep tariffing others and oppressing all
their people as they have for generations. The battles between the
nomads of Ongelya and Illegea make the southern high road
unsafe. That leaves the high road through Deforya and the
Northern Pass, and so we're back to where we were two years
ago. That means higher tariffs here. But… if I don't do something,
we'll lose even more, just on the wine trade to the east. If we want
safe trade that isn't tariffed to excess, I'll have to invade Deforya
and make it part of Lanachrona. And where will I find the lancers
and foot for that when I can't even find enough to hold Southgate
without losing Hyalt?"

"Then… you must do what you must. But be generous to the
overcaptain. Offer him something beyond rank." Alerya tilted her
head. "Appeal to him, and offer gratitude, honor, and a stipend to
his family in his absence. Pay for the stipend yourself."

Talryn laughed softly. "You are as bad as I must be."

"We all do what we must." Alerya stood.

Talryn raised his eyebrows.

"You have decided. Can you do anything more this evening?"

"No." Talryn smiled sheepishly.

"Then we should enjoy the supper Feylish has prepared. Mother
also sent some of the better amber wine from the cellars."

"A good supper would help…"
Chapter 13

Finally, the looming was mostly finished, and, on Duadi of the
second week of harvest, Wendra rode out with Alucius and the
flock. After the episode with the dark sanders, Alucius had taken
not only to bringing two rifles but wearing his Northern Guard
ammunition belt at all times while away from the stead buildings.
So far, he had not had to use even one rifle, so quiet had the stead
been. But that worried him as much as more sandwolf attacks
would have.

Still, he enjoyed having Wendra out with him, especially on a warm
and sunny day with just enough of a breeze that the sun wasn't too
hot. At the same time, he had a nagging worry. After his previous
experience with the wild pteridons, did he have any right to ask
Wendra to come out with him?

"You're thinking about those dark creatures, aren't you?" called
Wendra.

"I worry about whether you should be out here," he admitted.

"I've been worried about you every time you've taken the flock out
alone," she countered. "When you ran into the dark sanders, my
ring didn't even show that you were in trouble."

"I wasn't," he replied. "That's why you didn't feel anything."

"It's still safer with two herders."

She was right, Alucius knew, but he couldn't help worrying about
her.

By midmorning, they were a good ten vingts east of the stead, and
they had let the flock slow and browse its way eastward.

"How do you feel?" Alucius called across the fifty yards separating
him from Wendra.

"I feel fine. It's wonderful to be out here." A smile followed
Wendra's words. "It's too bad I can't come out tomorrow."

"You're going to stay at the stead and handle the last of the
looming? "

"Your mother and grandsire want to go into town. They haven't
been off the stead in weeks. How could I say no?"

"Knowing you, you couldn't." Alucius laughed.

After another glass, the nightsheep began to spread, and Alucius
and Wendra chivvied them back into order and urged them farther
eastward, toward another area where the quarasote was more
dense, not that it was all that dense anywhere, but where the
bushes were merely a yard or so apart as opposed to three or
four.

As the nightsheep settled into grazing once more, Alucius frowned.
He could feel something—almost a sense of sadness, of
sorrow—that wavered at the edge of his Talent-senses. Then it
was gone.

He eased the gray back toward the rear of the flock, where he
urged two laggard ewes forward until they were almost up with the
others, then circled back toward Wendra, letting the nightsheep
graze what new quarasote shoots there were.

After another half glass, they eased the nightsheep farther east,
because Alucius didn't want the quarasote overgrazed.

As he rode slowly eastward in the general direction of the Plateau,
Alucius could feel the sense of sorrow growing stronger. He hadn't
felt anything like that since he'd left Dereka two years earlier. He
wondered. Did the feeling have anything to do with his dreams—or
the earlier attack of the dark sanders?

While he had not had any vivid dreams like the one with the ifrit, he
continued to have fragments of dreams—regular dreams—with the
alabaster-skinned men and women dominating them, and all of
them chided him for his failures to understand their right to
dominance and cataloged his own shortcomings.

He looked across the flock to Wendra, then waved.

She smiled, and the expression warmed him—but only for a
moment, as a sudden wave of sorrow—and then one of all too
familiar purpleness—swept over him.

"Wendra!" Alucius called out. "Get your rifle, and use darkness on
the cartridges. Something's coming!"

He urged the gray toward his wife, hurrying as fast as he could
around the spikes of the quarasote, not wanting to injure his mount,
but wanting to get closer to her.

"Do you know what it is?"

"Something else like the dark sanders," Alucius said as he reined
up a yard from Wendra, where he checked his own rifles. Then he
began to infuse the cartridges in each rifle with the same kind of
darkness that had brought down the pteridons so many years
before—and the dark sanders weeks before. He could only hope
that it would work as well this time for whatever might appear. Once
he felt that each bullet was so charged, he began to scan the skies
and the quarasote flats for the evil purpleness that seemed ready
to burst forth from somewhere.

"I can feel something out there," murmured Wendra.

The chill darkness that was overlaid with purpleness grew more
and more and more oppressive as they waited—an unseen wall of
stone, an avalanche of disaster, waiting to fall and sweep them
away. Yet… what else could they do but wait, ready to act? They
didn't know from where the attack might come—or if an attack
would even come. Retreating in ignorance before a Talent-foe was
worse than waiting.

"It feels evil, like an icy purple," murmured Wendra. "What do you
think is coming?"

"I'd guess something flying, like wild pteridons, but it could be
sandoxes—or something we've never seen."

With a sudden snap, the silver-green of the very sky itself
flexed—and somehow opened—and flying blue shapes appeared
less than fifty yards to the northeast of the pair. The ten-odd
creatures circling in the air were purplish pteridons, smaller than
those once used by the nomads and without riders. The metallic
blue talons that extended from their forelegs glinted, knife-sharp.

"Start firing, now!" Alucius lifted his heavy rifle and put his first shot
through the chest of the lead pteridon. The Talent-predator
fluttered once, then cartwheeled out of the sky.

Wendra's rifle cracked, once, twice, a third time, before a pteridon
spun downward into a quarasote bush. Both bush and pteridon
burst into flame.

The others began to form into a loose wedge that rose, as if
preparatory to diving at the pair of herders. Alucius fired two more
shots. The first missed entirely. The second caught the edge of
another pteridon, which seemed to shake off the impact.

One of the pteridons ignored the formation and dived at one of the
lead nightrams. The ram lifted his head, trying to twist his glittering
horns to catch the predator. Both creatures exploded in bluish
flame.

Alucius got off two more shots, one of which struck a pteridon,
then switched rifles. "As soon as you can," he called to Wendra,
"reload!"

The pteridons circled higher, and as he fired twice more, bringing
down yet another pteridon, Alucius realized something else. The
Talent-creatures had not been specifically hunting them. They'd
been startled and surprised, and that might have been what was
giving Wendra and him an edge. Still, they were dangerous
creatures.

Another of the pteridons swept toward Wendra, Alucius snapped
off two quick shots, and the second caught the beast on the edge
of the wing. It spiraled toward one of the ewes, impaling itself on
the much shorter horns of the ewe, then exploded into a column of
blue flame that enveloped both.

Alucius had one cartridge left in his rifle when he realized that the
sky was clear. His forehead was covered in sweat, and he looked
toward Wendra. "Some good shooting there, dear."

"Not as good as yours, but I did help, I think."

"More than a little." Alucius reached out with his Talent. The sense
of purpleness was gone, but a residual of the sorrow remained. He
frowned. "We'd better check the rest of the flock."

Wendra nodded.

From what Alucius and Wendra could tell as they circled the flock,
they had lost only the one young ram and a ewe. While the death of
both nightsheep would hurt, the damage could have been much
worse. Except, Alucius reflected, losing even one nightsheep a
week would destroy them just as surely as a sudden disaster
involving all the flock.

There were no traces of any of the wild blue pteridons, none at all,
except for the black greasy splotches on the soil where each fallen
Talent-creature had burned. No charred scales or bones… nothing
except the residue of intense fires.

Alucius could sense another problem—the lack of something. In
the rough circle below where the wild pteridons had appeared,
there was no life left. Even the quarasote bushes, although they
looked green, were dead and would be brown in weeks, if not
days. And that was the area from where the feeling of sorrow
came.

"It's dead, isn't it?" asked Wendra. "The land around us."

Alucius nodded.

"Why… why did it happen here?" she asked. "Is it us?"

"I'd like to say it isn't," he replied, "but it has to be. I can't see why,
unless somehow my fights with the pteridons earlier made it easier
for them to find me. But why now? That was two years ago. And
you? They never were near you."

"It has to be you," Wendra said. "This is the second time in a
month."

"But why now?" Alucius asked again.

They looked at each other. Neither had an answer.
Chapter 14
Salaan, Lanachrona

The angular man in the dark purple tunic leaned over the
Recorder's Table and looked down into the transparent surface,
finger-spans thick, yet so deep that the ruby mist through which he
peered seemed tens of yards. The Table exuded age, as though it
might have been one that remained from the score or more that
had once linked the far-flung domains of the Duarchy of Corus.
Only the smooth and shimmering finish on the dark lorken sides of
the Table suggested that the Table was of more recent creation.

"What do you see?" demanded the round-faced trader in gray and
blue.

"Somewhere, on Corus, within the former reaches of the Duarchy,
years past, a lamaial was born. It might have been your herder
overcaptain."

"You can't tell that? Why not? You said he had Talent."

"You know that well, Halanat. All herders have Talent. That is why
they can be herders," replied the white-faced man with the purple-
tinged eyes. "That has been known for years. The Table, being
constructed with Talent, cannot depict those with such Talent once
they have begun to exercise it. You would not want others using it
on us, would you? Thus, a Table can record all steers born with the
potential for Talent—or for even greater use of Talent, as with a
lamaial or a hero—but Enyll never recorded those births except
within the Table in Tempre…"

"Hero and lamaial—they sound like nonsense," the trader replied.
"They're just Talent-steers."

"Ah, yes… myths and nonsense, created to maintain a mystery by
Recorders like me, who are translated from Efra merely for that
express purpose of being obscure. The Vault was a myth, and so
were the pteridons that destroyed the legions of the last Praetor,
and so are the Dual Scepters."

The mockery in the Recorder's words was so edged that Halanat's
eyes dropped.

The Recorder of Deeds looked up from the crystal mist of the
table, purple-tinged eyes unblinkingly fixed on the trader. The mist
swirling around the scene held in the Table vanished, and all that
remained within the smooth black frame was an ordinary mirror,
save that it was far smoother and more reflective than any such
mirror produced in recent centuries in Dekhron or Tempre or any
other city or town in the whole of Corus.

"All those," continued the Recorder, after a long silence, "have
reappeared, save the scepters. For reasons best known to the
ancients, there was never a record of where the scepters were
placed, not one that we have been able to find, but they are not a
myth, and they served a great purpose. As for the lamaial of the
Legacy, he will remain concealed until the conflict begins. That is
according to the words once carved in the Vault. Whether the
ancients carved it as a warning or as a prediction, we cannot know.
But you must hold in mind that those with Talent can become more
than Talent-steers, and that is something that we—that you—must
prevent."

"The Table is useless for that."

"Exactly. That is your job. Or have you forgotten?" The Recorder
smiled indulgently.

"No, honored Trezun." The trader started to gnaw on his lip, then
stopped and asked, "What about this new Praetor?"

"Young Tyren? You will not need to worry about him. Waleryn will
shortly be dispatched to handle him. And to prepare for the next
full translation."

"But you can show him in the Table?" The round-faced trader's
words were formal, stiff, and barely avoided carrying a chill. After
he had spoken, his face became impassive.

The Table came to life once more, with the ruby mist filling the
glass, then displayed the image of a fair-haired man, barely out of
youth, in shimmering silver and black, striding down a wide corridor
flanked with tall goldenstone columns. A silvery nimbus surrounded
him.

"The silver around him… ?"

"That shows that he could use Talent but has never called upon it."

"What is his Talent? Is it possible to tell?"

The Recorder shrugged. "The Table will not reveal what might be.
We hope to avoid his discovering it until Waleryn is there to co-opt
him. With the translation and Tyren, we will have two points of
power and Pressure."

The trader tightened his lips as he leaned forward to study the
image displayed by the Table. "Can you tell me where this is?"

"Only from what appears in the Table, Halanat. It would seem to be
Alustre, but that is not certain. Still, from the columns and the color
of the stone…"

"Does your Table say whether he is the hero come at last? Or
whether he will claim the Dual Scepters?"

The Recorder of Deeds laughed ironically. "Every human
conqueror of the past millennium has claimed to be the hero—or
denied it. Some have claimed to carry the scepter, or the Dual
Scepters. Others have denied the scepters even existed. In the
end, it has made little difference. Claims or no claims, what will be
will be."

"That is a fine sentiment for you," said the trader slowly, "but even
as a trader I cannot travel all of Corus chasing rumors. If he has
something he calls the scepters, that makes matters worse,
because the common folk believe that the scepters have some
power. Great power, not some drizzle of vision in a mirror. Even
belief in the scepters grants power."

"Vision is far from a drizzle of power, as you put it. There is much
yet that you do not understand, and for a mere shadow-translation,
you presume greatly. As for the people, they would do the same in
any case, if it appears that their ruler is indeed powerful. This Tyren
could be the hero, but any conqueror could or might be." The
Recorder's tone turned colder. "In any case, he is a continent
away, and you are not tasked with traveling to Lustrea. Your tasks
are closer. The so-called Regent of the Matrial has two of the
crystal knife-throwers and is about to take back Southgate and
everything north of the Dry Coast. The Lord-Protector has lost his
Table and will lose more. You must complete your work in Hyalt
and Dekhron before that time comes. It must come sooner rather
than later." The Recorder's purple-gray eyes met the dark-rimmed
orbs of the trader.

After a moment, Halanat looked away.
Chapter 15

Wendra and Alucius and Lucenda and Royalt sat around the
kitchen table in the late twilight of an early harvest evening.

"… that both may strive to do good in the world and beyond."
Alucius finished the prayer.

Wendra and Lucenda stood and dished out the mutton stew with
hot biscuits. Alucius immediately took some of the fresh harvest
honey from the pot.

"They never grow up," Lucenda observed to Wendra. "Put honey
on the table, and they're small boys again."

"And you're never girls again?" Alucius questioned.

"Never!" replied Wendra, her eyes twinkling.

"You won't win that one, Alucius," Royalt pointed out.

Alucius smiled, silently agreeing with his grandsire.

Royalt lifted his glass of ale and took a swallow. "Tastes good after
a long day."

"What did you find out from Kustyl?" asked Lucenda, looking at her
father.

"Ever since Alucius had that run-in with the bravos outside of
Sudon," Royalt said, "Kustyl's been listening even more carefully."

Alucius nodded. "He said he thought a trader named Halanat was
behind it, except that he'd known Halanat years ago, and Halanat
wasn't shrewd enough, and that meant someone was directing him.
He never could come up with anything."

"And you didn't want to go back to Dekhron," Royalt pointed out.

"No, I didn't," Alucius admitted. "I still don't. That's a legacy I'd
rather avoid. The place is like a bucket of tar. You put one finger in,
and before you know it you're stuck. I've already had enough of my
life disrupted by that sort of thing." He looked at Wendra. "And I'm
not too interested in ending up where I'd be forced to put on the
uniform again. Especially not now."

"What did Grandpa Kustyl have to say?" asked Wendra gently.

"He had a lot to say." Royalt laughed. "He usually does."

"He's worth listening to," added Lucenda, looking at her son. "What
we do here is affected too much by Dekhron—as someone once
told me."

Alucius winced inside, but merely smiled.

Wendra glanced at him, and Alucius knew she understood how he
felt.

"Well…" Royalt dragged out the word. "Kustyl was telling me that
the traders in Dekhron have gotten a lot smarter. You know they've
been giving those barrel contracts to your father, Wendra?"

The younger woman nodded.

"That's because they went around and checked the quality and
prices of every cooper within fifty vingts of Dekhron. He came out
the best."

"He is the best," Wendra averred.

"That was your grandfather's point. In his whole life, he's never
seen the traders in Dekhron be that smart. They always gave the
business to a friend or a cousin. They've been doing the same sort
of thing with the rivermen, checking out barge transport rates.
But… the other thing that's scary is what happened last month. A
Lanachronan cloth factor decided to open a place in Dekhron and
see if he could bid into the nightsilk trade…"

Alucius had a feeling he wouldn't like what was coming.

"… just before he had the place ready, it caught fire. He died in the
blaze. Kustyl started asking around, quietlike. Been five fires like
that in the past year and a half."

"Sounds like the traders are getting organized and finding ways to
kill people who get in their way," Alucius admitted. "But they've
always put golds ahead of people's lives. That's what got us under
Lanachronan rule."

Royalt shook his head. "It's not the same. They tried to run
Dekhron the way they wanted, and sometimes they wasted golds
doing it. They're not doing foolish things anymore, and there's
another thing. They've started a cooperative wagon run to Borlan
and down the high road to Krost. Maybe farther. Sharing the cost.
They're bringing back Vyan Hills wines cheaper, and they're
running them out to Dereka once a season."

"If they'd been that smart five years ago—" began Lucenda.

"It wouldn't have worked with the tariffs between the Iron Valleys
and Lanachrona," Wendra said. "Father looked into it, because he
heard the cost of barrels was so high in Borlan and Salaan. The
tariffs cost more than the barrels."

"Kustyl told me one more thing," Royalt said slowly. "Several of the
old-line traders—they've died in the past year. Three or them. Died
in their sleep. Kustyl said it didn't feel right."

When a herder said something didn't feel right, he was almost
always correct, Alucius knew, and Kustyl, old as he was, was
certainly a herder who was no one's fool.

"Is someone trying to take over the old traders' council?" asked
Lucenda.

"He doesn't know," Royalt admitted. "He just says the whole city
feels strange."

Alucius's stomach tightened, but he didn't comment. All too many
things were feeling strange around the Iron Valleys.

Royalt finished a large mouthful of stew before glancing at Alucius.
"Lucenda said you two took the flock well east. No more
creatures?"

"We didn't see or feel anything. Not a hint of anything. Haven't in
more than a week. We told you that."

"You did… but we've never seen any Talent-creatures here, except
soarers and sanders." Royalt frowned, then asked, "How are the
shoots there?"

"They're good. Didn't see any sanders or sandwolves," Alucius
replied. "We probably ought to take them there more in the next
few weeks."

"Good idea, but we'd better have two of us with them." Royalt
nodded. "Feel like it's going to be another dry winter. Been too
many lately."

"How's the ramlet?" Alucius asked his mother.

"He's doing fine—for a lamb born six months too late to a mother
who's got no milk. I'd appreciate it if you'd crush some more of the
quartz in the morning, and if you could get it really fine. He can tell
the difference."

"I'll take care of it," Alucius offered.

"I'll feed him in the morning," Wendra promised. "You both wanted
to get to town early, didn't you?"

"That would help," Lucenda admitted. "The rest of the barrels are
supposed to be ready, and that way Royalt and I could get one of
them filled with flour at the mill…"

Alucius relaxed more as the conversation drifted back to the night-
sheep and the stead.

Less than a glass later, after dishes had been done and the
nightsheep and stables checked, Alucius closed the bedchamber
door and eased off the nightsilk-covered herders' vest, slipping it
into place on the clothes rack in the corner.

Wendra sat on the side of the bed and looked up at her husband.
"You're worried, aren't you?"

"I am. The last time something started to look this bad, I ended up
spending four years in the militia and Northern Guard."

"You didn't say much about it looking bad," she pointed out. "Not
tonight. Why not?"

"You know why, dear one," he said gently. "We have Talent-
creatures and soarers showing up. We haven't seen them in years,
and some are the kind no one has seen before. Now… something
strange is happening in Dekhron as well, a different strangeness."

"You think they're connected?"

"I feel they are, but I don't know why."

"And because you don't… you think this will all go away?" Wendra
asked, again gently.

"No. Things like this don't go away. But I don't have an answer. The
last time, when the Matrites invaded, at least we could see the
problem. I wasn't all that smart. I was going to save the Iron Valleys
and be a hero so that I'd be respected. Well… my mother was
right. I was a hero of sorts, and the more I did, the more people
wanted to kill me. Almost all of my time in the militia and Northern
Guard was away from you. I nearly got killed at least five times, and
Dysar wanted to have me executed for desertion because I didn't
commit suicide after I was wounded and the Matrites captured me.
I guess I'm worried, too, because I feel selfish. I'd like to be a
herder, a long-lived one, and spend my life with you. I've lost
interest in being a hero."

"You couldn't have had this time with me," she said quietly, "not if
you hadn't done what you did. We'd all be slaves to those…
ifrits…" She paused. "You think that they might be behind this… ?"

"I…" Alucius almost said that he didn't know, but there was no point
in that, because Wendra's Talent would tell her that he was lying.
"… I'm worried that they are." He shrugged. "I still have the feeling
I should do something, but… what? Just running back to Colonel
Weslyn and saying there's a problem, and throwing on a uniform…
what good will that do? Besides, I'm not sure that Weslyn isn't part
of the problem. He certainly wouldn't do anything to solve it, not if it
might cost his trader friends any golds."

"Could you go to Dekhron with Grandpa Kustyl and look around?
That might tell you something."

"It might," Alucius conceded, easing off his undertunic.

"I could go, if you—"

"No! You have to think…" He glanced at her midsection. "I'll go the
next time he heads down there. I will. I promise."

"You don't…" Then she laughed. "Sometimes it's hard, isn't it?"

"When you don't want to tell the truth? And you know the other
person will know you're lying?" he asked. "Yes… it can be."

She rose gracefully, stepped toward Alucius, and put a hand on
each cheek, almost cradling his face. "We can't avoid the world
forever, dearest."

"How about… just for tonight?" Alucius bent down and kissed her.
Chapter 16
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

The colonel who stood behind the wide desk had broad shoulders,
blond hair that was nearly half silver, and fine wrinkles running from
the corners of his eyes. Those wrinkles were especially
pronounced as he looked at the gilt commission in his hands, one
signed and sealed by the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona. After
studying the document, he cleared his throat gently and looked up
at the senior officer in the uniform of a marshal of the Southern
Guard. "Sir… this is rather… expansive."

"Yes, it is. The Lord-Protector is most thorough," replied Marshal
Frynkel. "He finds that there is less confusion that way, Colonel
Weslyn."

"He is known for such," temporized Weslyn.

"Why don't you sit down?" suggested the marshal, gesturing to the
colonel's chair and seating himself in the wooden straight-backed
chair in front of the colonel's desk.

"Ah… yes, sir." The colonel laid the document on the desk before
him and seated himself.

"The Lord-Protector thought that there should be no confusion,
Colonel Weslyn. You have reported that you have been unable to
muster more lancers or foot under the conditions set forth by the
Lord-Protector, and given the parlous situation facing all of
Lanachrona, the Lord-Protector thought that an inspection tour
might be the best way to confirm your reports. In order to allay any
suspicions by those in southern Lanachrona, you understand." The
tic in Frynkel's right eye twitched.

"I understand. Especially since the union has not been that
longstanding. The timing was… rather unexpected." Weslyn added
quickly, "Then, there have been concerns in the north here, as well,
about the use of the Northern Guard… and the costs."

"I can see that. We all bear costs in troubled times. The
commission, as written, is one of those. In other times, it would not
have been necessary, and the Lord-Protector would have wished it
otherwise, but to send a messenger, then wait for a reply… there
was not time, not when we expect a winter offensive by the
Regent. That was another reason for the powers delegated to me.
The Lord-Protector did not wish to have me beholden to
messengers if I needed additional authority. That is why the
commissions vest me fully with his authority in all matters. All
matters," Frynkel repeated the last words.

"Might I ask…?" began the colonel.

"You can ask," replied the marshal with a smile. "As I have said, I
am here on an inspection tour. I will be inspecting a number of
posts, including this one, the staging post in Wesrigg, and perhaps
those in Soulend and on the midroad. I may or may not inspect the
ones farther north and west. I may or may not make decisions on
postings or use of forces, and I could make some suggestions. All
that depends on what I find."

"I can see that, sir."

"I am sure you can."

"You have more than an entire company with you."

"That is true. We would not wish to burden the Northern Guard."

"You are most considerate."

"We have tried not to inconvenience you. At least not any more
than necessary." Frynkel smiled once more. "That being the case,
I will dispense with the formalities. To begin with, I would like to
see the postings of all companies in the Northern Guard, as well as
their officers."

"Now?"

"Now." Frynkel leaned back in the chair. "There are a number of
matters we can discuss while you have those records gathered."
Chapter 17

Alucius turned ana stood at the railing of the porch, looking
eastward, out over Westridge and up at the Aerial Plateau, looking
so close for all that it was a good thirty vingts away. Although the
shadow of twilight covered the Iron Valleys, green-tinged light
flashed from the crystal escarpments of the western edge of the
Plateau.

"It's beautiful," Wendra said from beside her husband, her hand
covering his where it rested on the railing.

"Beautiful… and sad, in a way," reflected Alucius. "To think that
there's a city up there, somewhere, almost deserted, and dying.
There might even be more than one, but I'd wager that all the
others are completely deserted and dead."

"You don't think it was just that city?"

"No. There was too much sadness deep within the soarer, and no
reason to deceive me about that. Also, we see so few soarers, yet
they're a part of history and everything else. Why else is there a
soarer queen for leschec?"

"Leschec's a game. There's also a sander king, and no one ever
thought sanders were smart enough for that."

"Everything else in the game has proved to be real. You've even
seen them all."

Wendra tilted her head. "I haven't seen an alector." A faint smile
played across her lips.

Alucius shook his head. "I'm safer when I don't make big general
statements."

"We all are. But you're right. There are references to alectors in the
old histories."

"You've read those?"

"I used to. Grandpa Kustyl has a whole shelf of them. No one else
was interested. I didn't tell anyone but him."

Alucius smiled. He'd been married to Wendra for close to five
years and known her for more than three before that, and she'd
never mentioned the histories. Was marriage like that, always
discovering something new? "Did those histories say anything else
about the soarers?"

"No. They didn't say anything about soarers or sanders. The writers
mentioned the Myrmidons, the alectors, the sandoxes, the
pteridons… even Cadmians. I always thought that was strange,
especially when I was younger. I'd seen soarers and sanders, and
they weren't in the books, and the creatures that were in the books
were ones I'd never seen."

Alucius squeezed her hand, gently. "Some of the books I read in
the quarters' libraries in Madrien said that the soarers were mythical
creatures, that they didn't exist. I wondered if that was because
they never lived in the south."

"They must like the cold more."

"I don't think they like it where it's warm and damp."

"There couldn't have been very many of them, ever, do you think?"
asked Wendra.

"The soarer told me that Corus used to be colder and drier. There
were probably more when it was. There had to have been more
soarers then than there are now. I got out of the room I was in, and
I saw enough to know how empty that city was. They wouldn't have
built a city if there weren't enough soarers to live there." But had he
seen enough? Or had he only seen what the soarer wanted him to
see?

"Did she ever tell you why they were dying off?"

"No… only that they were, and that there were very few of them,
and that before long there wouldn't be any left."

"They live a long time. So that might be a while."

Abruptly an intense green light—a line narrow as a wand—flared
skyward from the Plateau, its width constant, and for a moment, as
it lanced toward the small green disc of Asterta, it was brighter than
the setting sun had been a fraction of a glass earlier.

"What was that?" asked Wendra.

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like that."

"You think… like your grandmother… herders?"

"The death of a soarer?" suggested Alucius. "It could be. I don't
know why they would commemorate it the same way we do. We
want Selena in the sky, but only Asterta is now…" He broke off his
words, considering what the soarer had told him years before.

"What is it?"

"They helped make us what we are. You could be right. We might
be following their example, except for the choice of moon."

"Asterta's green. So are soarers," Wendra pointed out. "Their
lifethreads and radiance, anyway."

"I wonder…" mused Alucius.

"Maybe all herders are soarer's children. You are."

"So are you," he pointed out.

"Those with Talent, then." Wendra continued to look at the Plateau,
but the single line of green light had vanished, and the crystal
parapets of the towering Plateau were shrouded in shadow, no
longer reflecting the sun.

Alucius also watched, and the porch was silent for a time.

"I wonder." Alucius paused. "The soarer said that we had been
brought here by the ifrits. Did I tell you that?"

"No. You mean people? Not us, but people a long time ago?"

"Yes. She said that… that we were meant to be like cattle for the
ifrits."

"Where did they bring people from?"

"She didn't say. She said so much that was new—I didn't ask. I
should have."

"It makes sense," Wendra mused. "The ifrits feed on lifeforce, or
they use it."

"That's true."

"What I don't understand is… well… most people have lifethreads
that are brown or tan or amber, except herders. Most herders are
black shot with green. You're green. I'm green, but we didn't used
to be, did we?"

"No," he admitted. "You were black with flashes of green. I didn't
know how to look at myself then, but I'd guess I was, too."

"But we're green now. Why?"

"Because… somehow, greater use of Talent turns the lifethread
green. That's a guess, but it seems to be true. Herders with more
Talent have more green in their lifethreads. Maybe it shows a
greater tie to all of Corus. The soarers have been here forever… a
long time, anyway, and they're green."

"What about the sanders?" Wendra asked.

"I never looked that closely, but I always thought of them as red-
violet."

"And the ifrits are purple?"

"Both feed on lifeforce," mused Alucius. "I hadn't thought of it that
way." He shook his head once more. "Then, there are a lot of
things I didn't think of before I met you." He turned to face her
directly, grinning.

"I'm sure you did," Wendra replied, blushing.

"Supper's ready, you two," Lucenda's voice carried out from the
kitchen.

"We'll be right there," Alucius promised, taking a last look at the
Plateau, wondering what other mysteries lay there, and what else
he should have asked the soarer when he had had the chance.
Chapter 18
Tempre, Lanachrona

As he settled into the chair across from the settee where his
consort and wife was seated, the Lord-Protector looked over at the
infant at Alerya's breast. He couldn't help but smile. "He's happy."

"Contented, at least. He wasn't so good earlier. Not nearly so
good," replied Alerya. "How did your meetings and briefings go?"

"As well as I could expect." Talryn shook his head. "It's hard to
drag things out of people when they don't like telling you bad
news."

"You're most worried, are you not?"

"More than I'd ever admit to anyone but you, dearest. Nothing
seems to be going right. We're close to losing Southgate. The
Northern Guard has been pushed back toward Harmony. The
traders have already begun to petition me about the higher tariffs
being levied by the Deforyan Council. The revolt continues in Hyalt,
and some of the believers have been agitating in Syan. The
nomads in Ongelya slaughtered a trader's caravan. Then this
business with Waleryn. He's always been difficult. You know how
he was plotting with Enyll, and with all this going on, I get a note
from him saying that he's on his way to Lustrea concealed as a
trader, and that I'll be pleased to learn what he has discovered
when he returns." Talryn snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was
behind half of this and was leaving before I discovered it."

"How could he be?" asked Alerya.

"I don't know. But if it were possible, he would be." Talryn stood
and walked to the sideboard, from which he took out a bottle and
half filled a goblet. "Would you like some?"

"If you will water it down." Alerya made a face.

"I know, but too much wine…" Talryn poured the ruby wine into a
second goblet, then added the boiled and cooled water from the
crystal decanter. "Here."

"Just set it there, beside me, dear, if you would."

Talryn set his wife's wine on the end table, then, taking his own
goblet, seated himself across from her.

"Have you had any word from Frynkel? About the overcaptain?"
asked Alerya.

"I don't expect word anytime soon. It's a long journey."

"Do you think that the overcaptain will accept your request?"

"I hope so, especially now. I gave Frynkel some latitude in what he
could offer."

"Such as?"

"Some terms that might help me a great deal." Talryn smiled, but
did not say more.

"You can be… difficult, Talryn." Alerya smiled. "But… so can I… in
my own way. Perhaps young Talus needs my company tonight."

"That's…"

"Blackmail?" Alerya's smile turned mischievous. "It is indeed."

Talryn began to laugh. After he stopped, he added, with a grin, "I
suppose I deserved that."

"You did." She raised her eyebrows. "What terms?"

"Oh… Colonel Weslyn has not been exactly effective, and I don't
trust him. I suggested that Frynkel offer Alucius the command of
the Northern Guard if he is successful in quelling the revolt in
Hyalt."

"You are a true schemer, my love." Alerya shook her head. "You
know the poor overcaptain—or majer—will have to accept, if only to
save his people." She frowned. "You will honor that promise if he
succeeds?"

"I'd be pleased to honor it. He'll go off as a majer, and if he's
successful, I'll send a full company of Southern Guards back to
Dekhron with him, along with his own companies. No one could
possibly complain—not too much, anyway—if I promote the
greatest hero in Northern Guard history. Besides, he inspires his
officers and men, and Weslyn inspires no one, except the
conniving traders in Dekhron. Young as Alucius is, he'll be far
better than Weslyn."

"And you'd have a much more cooperative Northern Guard? Or at
least one better run and more reasonable?"

"Those were my thoughts. 'Better run' would be a great
improvement." Talryn's grin broadened. "You did tell me to be
generous. I hope you will be."

Alerya burst into laughter.

After a moment, so did Talryn.
Chapter 19

Late on Octdi afternoon, under high gray clouds, Wendra and
Alucius were nearing the eastern base of Westridge, guiding the
nightsheep flock back to the stead. Wendra was riding lead, with
Alucius bringing up the stragglers. After all of his precautions for
the past three days, neither Alucius nor Wendra had seen any sign
of any Talent-creatures or even sandwolves. Nor had Royalt on the
day he had taken the flock. All they had seen or sensed were
grayjays, scrats, and one or two sandsnakes.

Then, Alucius reflected to himself, they had prepared for the
Talent-creatures, and usually the worst dangers and difficulties he
had encountered were those for which he had not foreseen or
prepared. That just seemed to be the way of the world.

"Alucius!" Wendra called back.

He looked toward her, then saw, farther west, his grandsire just
below the crest of Westridge, riding downhill and toward them, far
more quickly than usual. After several moments, it was clear that
the older herder was heading toward Alucius.

Had something happened to his mother? Alucius forced himself to
concentrate on moving the stragglers along and up toward the
main body of the flock so that he wouldn't have to worry as much
about them if he needed to hurry the flock. Other than that, he
certainly couldn't do anything about whatever spurred Royalt on
until he heard what his grandsire had to say.

As he neared Alucius, Royalt gestured toward Wendra, urging her
to join them.

That made sense, because the lead ram was already on the path
that led home and to the shelter of the stead barns. If any of the
flock faced danger, it would be the stragglers, although most
sandwolves were unlikely to attack close to a stead, especially with
three herders nearby.

As Royalt neared Alucius and turned his mount to parallel Alucius
and the gray, Wendra urged her mount back toward Alucius and
Royalt.

"What's wrong?" Alucius asked. "Has something happened at the
stead? Has something happened to Mother?"

"No one's hurt. Nothing's broken, but things are looking… not so
good," Royalt said. "I'd like Wendra to hear what's happened."

Alucius refrained from asking again, although he wondered why
Royalt didn't want to say immediately, then tell Wendra when she
joined them. Both herders kept moving the stragglers up the slope,
waiting until Wendra rode up on the other side of Royalt, so that the
older herder rode in the middle.

"What is it?" asked Wendra.

"It's for Alucius, but I thought you both would like a little warning.
There's a Southern Guard officer waiting to talk to you, Alucius.
Brought more than a whole company of Southern Guards and a
couple of Northern Guard scouts. Says he's a marshal. Named
Frynkel." Royalt glanced at his grandson. "You know him?"

Alucius's whole body stiffened, and he tried to make his words
even, measured. "There is a Marshal Frynkel. Well, he was a
submarshal then. I met him. I even had dinner with him and the
Lord-Protector's arms-commander. That was Marshal Wyerl. I
suppose he still is."

"No…" murmured Wendra, so low that Alucius barely heard the
word, although her body posture told him as much as that single
syllable.

"Worse yet," said Royalt. "I don't like it that they're sending a
marshal and one that you know personally, all the way from
Lanachrona. Marshals don't ride days or weeks to see herders. Not
without the kind of reason I'd rather not hear."

Alucius was sure he didn't want to hear what Frynkel had to say,
either, because they wanted something, and it was likely that they
thought he would have to accept, whatever it was.

"You have any idea why?" asked the older herder.

"They've got real trouble, I'd guess. But… why would they want
me?"

"Because you're one of the best troop commanders in the north,
and because Weslyn's too stupid to know it."

"He's not too stupid. He knows it. He just doesn't care for me. And
the traders who back him don't like herders."

"Same thing. Officer who lets his personal feelings get in the way
is second-rate. At best."

"Weslyn's not with him?"

"No. Didn't see any Northern Guard officers."

That meant that the Lord-Protector wanted something, and
whatever it was, it was most likely that he didn't want the
commander of the Northern Guard to know until afterward. And that
would leave Alucius in a very bad position with regard to
Weslyn—unless the Lord-Protector wanted Alucius as an officer in
the Southern Guard, and that could be even worse.

The three split up to herd the flock back together for the last vingt
or so of the return to the stead, across the crest of Westridge and
down the western side. As they came down the western side of the
long rise, Alucius could make out the riders drawn up in formation
between the house and the stead outbuildings, almost all of them
in the blue of the Southern Guard.

When Alucius was but a few hundred yards from the formation,
Royalt rode back over toward his grandson. "Wendra and I'll take
care of the flock. You might as well see what he wants."

Alucius nodded and turned the gray toward the four riders at the
head of the formation. He reined up several yards short of them,
then bowed his head slightly. "Marshal Frynkel, it's both a surprise
and an honor to see you here."

"Doubtless more a surprise than an honor," replied Frynkel. "I
would request a little time alone with you, if you would not mind."

"With your having come so far, I would be happy to grant you
whatever time you might need or think necessary." Alucius
gestured toward the house. "Your men could stand down. There's
more than enough water in the troughs, and the outside pump
offers good water for water bottles." He smiled wryly. "I cannot
offer to feed everyone, not on such short notice."

"We would appreciate the water." Frynkel looked to the captain
mounted beside him. "If you would take care of the watering with all
due care, Captain Geragt?"

"Yes, sir."

Alucius guided the gray to the pair of stone posts in front of the
steps up to the house, where he dismounted and tied his mount.
Frynkel followed without speaking.

Alucius turned toward the porch where Lucenda stood, her face
set in an expression that Alucius had seen but once before and
had hoped he would not see again.

Frynkel had dismounted and joined Alucius.

Alucius raised his voice slightly. "Marshal Frynkel, this is my
mother, Lucenda. Mother, this is Marshal Frynkel. Unless matters
have changed, he is one of the senior marshals of all Lanachrona."

Frynkel inclined his head. "I am honored. Your son is the finest
battle commander in Corus, and the most honorable officer I have
ever had the privilege of knowing."

Frynkel's words did little to remove Alucius's apprehension.

"Your words are kind, Marshal," returned Lucenda. "I will leave you
to what must be done." She inclined her head, then turned, leaving
the porch.

"Overcaptain Alucius," began Frynkel, "I have been personally
asked by the Lord-Protector to convey a request to you."

"Why don't you come on in?" Alucius suggested. "You can tell me
inside." He walked up the steps, then held the door for the marshal.
After following the senior officer into the foyer, he led the way to
the main room.

"Before we begin," the marshal said, "I would ask you to inspect
my credentials." He extended a folder. "Please read them
carefully."

Alucius took the folder, trying not to focus on the tic in Frynkel's
right eye, and concentrated on studying the commission that
granted Frynkel the full powers, rights, and privileges of the Lord-
Protector himself in the Iron Valleys. The second document was a
letter with the Lord-Protector's seal that stated that the marshal had
the right and the authority to treat as necessary with, and in a
manner befitting the greatest of respect for, one Alucius, former
and present overcaptain of the Northern Guard. After a time, the
herder handed the folder back. "If you would like to sit…"

"Thank you." Frynkel settled into the armchair that had been the
favorite of Alucius's grandmother. "Comfortable chair."

"My family's always liked it. Especially my grandmother."

"She had good judgment." Frynkel smiled, leaning forward, his
eyes directly on Alucius. "You know that the Lord-Protector owes
you a great deal and that he respects you greatly." His eye twitched
once.

"He must have a great need, to send you here," Alucius replied.

"He has a request of you. It is a request because he also is a man
of his word, and he promised you that he would not call you or
order you back to service. But the need is great, and he asked me
to tell you what that need is in explaining his request." Frynkel
absently smoothed back the few thin strands of black hair
remaining in the center of a balding head, then pressed the edge
of his palm against his right eye for a moment.

"Please do." Alucius could feel a chill settling over him. Whatever it
was, the few Talent-creatures on the stead paled before what was
about to happen. What bothered him most was the feeling of
directness and honesty within the marshal. That was truly
frightening.

"You may know that the Regent of the Matrial has constructed a
second crystal spear-thrower. That means that there is now one in
the northern reaches of Madrien and one in the south…"

Alucius had not known that, and he was certain that Frynkel had
known he had not.

"… the Northern Guard is struggling to hold to its gains in northern
Madrien. According to Colonel Weslyn, there are few available
men who can be conscripted into the Northern Guard."

"From what I know, sir, that is true. Any more conscription would
wreak great harm on the Northern Valleys. There are already many
crafters without sons, and, while their wives and daughters can
carry on now, if too many more are lost there will be too few to
pass on their crafts to the children."

Frynkel nodded. "My own inquiries have supported that.
Unfortunately, events are proving most unkind. The Landarch of
Deforya has been deposed by the great landowners there, and
they have established a Council of Five. That Council has doubled
tariffs in the east. The warring between Illegea and Ongelya has
closed the southern route, and several caravans have been
plundered, their traders killed. The Regent of the Matrial has
retaken Fola and Dimor and is pressing southward. Somewhat
over three weeks ago, a revolt erupted in Hyalt."

"And the Lord-Protector's request?" asked Alucius, dreading the
response.

"While we believe that we can hold Southgate with the forces at
hand, we cannot transfer more than a company or two to deal with
the revolt in Hyalt. We believe that we could transfer but one
company from the Northern Guard, and there are two, perhaps
three, Southern Guard companies in training that could be spared.
Yet, if we transfer more than those…" Frynkel spread his hands.
"And if we do nothing, the revolt could spread and block the trading
roads."

"You haven't said what the Lord-Protector would request," Alucius
pointed out.

"He would request your return to duty as a majer in charge of the
forces to put down the revolt in Hyalt. The revolt has been
fomented by a group that advocates a return of the 'True Duarchy,'
whatever that may be. Most merchants and crafters—those that
can—have fled and have appealed to the Lord-Protector to restore
their lands and town to them."

"I can see what the Lord-Protector would gain," Alucius replied
slowly, "and I would be remiss in not appreciating his courtesy in
making this a request. Still… that asks a great deal, not so much of
me, but of my wife and family."

"The Lord-Protector understands that as well. His need is great,
but so is his gratitude. He would offer not only the rank and pay of a
senior majer, but also a continuing stipend, in addition to your pay,
to your wife, equal to your pay, while you serve outside the Iron
Valleys. He will pay that personally. He also offers his gratitude."

Alucius nodded. There had to be more. So he waited.

Frynkel leaned forward slightly, his voice lower as he spoke. "He
also is deeply concerned about the future of the Northern Guard.
Once you are successful in Hyalt, he would be most appreciative if
you would become the commander of the Northern Guard."

"Me?"

"You." Frynkel withdrew a narrower envelope from his jacket and
extended it. "This is for you."

Alucius took the envelope as though it contained a death sentence,
breaking the outer seal and withdrawing the single sheet carefully.



My dear Overcaptain Alucius—

As you may have gathered, the times have become most
dangerous for us all, else I would not have sent Marshal Frynkel to
tender my request of you to return to service. I know that you would
prefer to be a herder. You have made that most clear. I also would
prefer that, rather than making this request of you.

Yet… we are not always allowed our choices, and the times make
requests as well. The Northern Guard is not well served. By
accepting my request, you can once more distinguish yourself, and
in a rank that will permit no brooking of your becoming commander
of the Northern Guard once you complete this mission. This letter,
which I suggest you tender to your family for safekeeping, is a
written promise of my faith in and gratitude toward you…



The signature was that of Talryn, Lord-Protector of Lanachrona,
and from what Alucius recalled from the signatures on his
discharge orders, it was indeed the Lord-Protector's.

Alucius lowered the letter, folding it and slipping it back into the
envelope. He could not block the shock on his face, not for a
moment, and he said nothing until he felt he was more in control.
"Matters are that bad?"

"They may be worse since I left Tempre," Frynkel replied. "I
cannot imagine how they could have improved."

Did Alucius have a choice? A real one? Not that he could see.
Finally, he nodded, and asked, "What company of the Northern
Guard?"

"The Fifth, under Overcaptain Feran. That contains what remained
of your Twenty-first." After a moment, Frynkel went on, "You would
also receive the Lord-Protector's commission as a senior majer in
the Southern Guard. That way, none could gainsay your authority
over lancers from either north or south."

"That would also subject me to the authority of the Southern
Guard," Alucius pointed out.

Frynkel offered a rueful chuckle. "If you accept, you would be
subject to such in any case."

"True," Alucius admitted. "Could you tell me more about why this
need is so great?"

Frynkel cleared his throat. "The Regent of the Matrial has become
even stronger…"

As the marshal talked evenly about all the difficulties besetting the
Lord-Protector, Alucius listened, but his own thoughts skittered
around Frynkel's words as well. Truly, he had not understood fully
how much the military situation had changed in Corus in the more
than two years since he had left the Northern Guard. Had the ifrits
somehow returned and created the changes, adverse as they
were, or had human nature just taken its normal course?

His lips turned into a tight and wry smile. Did it matter?

"… and for all these reasons, the Lord-Protector reluctantly
decided to make this request of you. Will you consider such?"

Alucius let the silence drag out. Finally, he spoke. "You believe
what you say, and I have found the Lord-Protector to be an
honorable man. Only a man blind and deaf would conclude that he
had a choice. Since I am neither, I will accept, but I cannot leave
for at least a few days."

Alucius heard the faintest gasp from the kitchen—from his mother.

"We had thought that would be so. In any case, I will have to make
the arrangements for Fifth Company to be recalled from Wesrigg.
As I recall, they were just recently posted there in preparation to
support the defenses around Arwyn."

Alucius nodded, waiting to see what else Frynkel had to say.

"Colonel Weslyn will also need to be informed of the Lord-
Protector's request and orders, but it will be my pleasure to take
care of that." Frynkel smiled coldly. "That will require a certain…
firmness. But he will not learn of the Lord-Protector's eventual
intent. Only the Lord-Protector, Marshal Wyerl, and I—and
you—know that or will know it until just before it comes to pass."

Alucius could tell that Frynkel cared little for Colonel Weslyn. He
also knew that his accepting the Lord-Protector's request was
foolish and dangerous, especially since it would establish him as a
rival and an enemy of Weslyn, even if Frynkel did not inform
Weslyn about the Lord-Protector's future intentions for the
commander of the Northern Guard.

The "request" of the Lord-Protector was intolerable. It didn't help
much that the alternative was worse.
Chapter 20

Alucius stood on the porch, watching as the Southern Guards rode
down the lane, back toward Iron Stem, or perhaps to Wesrigg.
Wendra and Royalt stood by the corral on the north side of the
main sheep shed, watching as the blue-uniformed riders passed
them. Absently, Alucius realized that either Wendra or Royalt had
taken his gray and stabled and groomed the big gelding.

"Alucius…"

He turned to face his mother.

"How could you… ?" She looked at her son. "Haven't you done
enough already?"

"I don't have any real choice," he replied. "The Northern Guard
can't hold out against the Regent of the Matrial without support
from the Southern Guard and the Lord-Protector, and they can't
provide it."

"Can't… or won't?"

"Does it make any difference?" he countered.

"Will it always be this way? Will you always take on what others
should do?"

Alucius didn't have an answer, not one that he wanted to voice.
He'd answered once before, and it hadn't exactly helped. Instead,
he just looked at her levelly.

After a moment, she dropped her eyes.

Silently, as the sun dropped behind the iron-sandy plains and
quarasote flats to the west, Alucius and his mother waited and
watched as the last of the Southern Guard lancers left the stead
and as Royalt and Wendra walked from the corral toward them. No
one spoke until all four were gathered on the southern part of the
porch, just outside the door to the house.

"What did the marshal want?" asked Royalt.

"The Lord-Protector requested my return to service—as a favor,"
Alucius replied. "They'll promote me to majer. Senior majer."

"Senior majer? They must want you back a whole lot," said Royalt.

"You said you would, didn't you?" Wendra's voice was soft.

"How could I not accept?" replied Alucius. "If I refused, before
long I'd be asked again, less politely, and I would have to fight
under even less advantageous conditions… and without the
support of the Lord-Protector."

"How bad is it?" asked Royalt.

"Worse than any of us thought, even Kustyl. The Regent of the
Matrial has rallied the lancers of Madrien and come up with another
crystal spear-thrower…" As the others listened, Alucius
summarized what Marshal Frynkel had told him earlier. "… and
everywhere there are problems. No one is going to help the Iron
Valleys until they've dealt with things closer to their home. I don't
like that, but that's the legacy we got from the old Council and the
traders in Dekhron, and we have to deal with what is, not what we'd
like."

"Always been that way." Royalt shook his head slowly. "Always will
be. Too few herders, and no one else cares."

"Not until it affects them, anyway," Alucius pointed out.

"You got another problem," Royalt said. "This revolt in Hyalt.
Anyone who puts it down, or tries to, isn't going to be real popular.
Especially if you kill a bunch of folks. Maybe, the Lord-
Protector—or his folk—have been doing something not real
popular there. Could be why he wants an outsider to handle it."

"That's possible," Alucius admitted. Anything was possible. He'd
already seen good and bad officers in the Southern Guard, and a
few of the bad ones had been every bit as bad as Dysar, who had
been the worst Alucius had encountered in the Northern Guard. It
was also more than likely that the rebellion had been caused by
poor administration or over-tariffing. But… he'd just have to see.

"Better remember that for every man you kill, two will come forward
to avenge him. That's the way those southerners are. Got fire for
blood, and not a lot in the way of brains," Royalt said.

There was another long silence.

"I might as well get on with fixing supper. It'll be a bit late." Lucenda
looked to Wendra. "I won't need help yet."

"I'll be there in a bit," Wendra replied, as Lucenda slipped through
the front door, closing it behind her.

"Need to check the shed," Royalt added. "What with all the
commotion, not sure I locked everything tight." He turned and
headed down the steps, back toward the outbuildings, leaving
Alucius and Wendra alone on the porch.

Wendra looked at Alucius, her golden-flecked green eyes meeting
his silver-gray orbs.

After a moment, she said, "I know you have to do this. I could feel
it."

"I don't want to," he said, taking her hands in his. "It's just…"

"… that you don't have any choice. You can't fight off the Matrial's
lancers by yourself, but if you help the Lord-Protector, you think
there's a chance that it won't happen."

"Chance—that's a good way of putting it." Alucius uttered a sound
halfway between a laugh and a snort. "I've seen how many lancers
Madrien has. I don't know how this new Regent of the Matrial has
managed to take over, but she has, and without the support of the
Lord-Protector to block the Regent, Madrien can take the Iron
Valleys in a season. Every year, we have fewer people and fewer
golds…" He shook his head.

"Do you think the ifrits have anything to do with things getting so
bad?" asked Wendra.

"I can't say. I just don't know."

"What do you feel?" she pursued.

"I can't say why, but I feel that they are."

"So do I.I don't want you to go. I know you have to, but…"
Wendra's eyes were bright.

Alucius glanced at the Plateau, a grayish mass that melded with the
gray clouds swirling around and above it. "I wish I knew more."

"We never do."

That was certainly true, he reflected. That had been true his entire
life.

"When will you leave?" asked Wendra.

"On Londi. Marshal Frynkel will be taking care of other details."

"Informing the colonel?"

"Among other things." Alucius took the narrow envelope from within
the nightsilk jacket he had never shed and handed it to Wendra.
"You need to read this. It's from the Lord-Protector."

He stood and waited as she opened the envelope and read the
words put to pen there.

Finally, she looked up. "Commander of the Northern Guard?
Why?"

"Because things are worse than we know."

She just looked at him. "Will you accept that as well?"

"That's a road I won't reach for a while." He forced a smile.
"Anyway, that would mean I would be in Dekhron, and
commanders don't undertake the nasty missions."

She raised her eyebrows. "Colonel Weslyn doesn't. Colonel Clyon
did. Who was the better commander?"

Alucius concealed a wince. "That road can wait. Anyway, it could
be that things in Hyalt won't take that long."

Her laugh was a short bark. "Then what? The Lord-Protector will
want something else… or you'll be tied up in trying to rebuild the
Northern Guard."

"You think I should have refused?" he asked softly.

"No. It wouldn't have been right. I don't know if exactly what you will
be doing is right, but I've seen the Talent-creatures, and you can't
stay here and pretend they don't exist or that life will go on as
before. And even if they aren't involved, Colonel Weslyn is almost
as bad in his own way. I just wish you didn't have to be the one to
put things right."

"I know, and I could be being sent to the wrong place…"

"That could be." Wendra offered a tight smile. "If that is so, then I'll
have to do what you would have done."

"There are some more things I need to show you."

She just nodded, then stepped forward and put her arms around
him. "You can do that… tomorrow."
Chapter 21
Hieron, Madrien

The Regent sat on the south side of the circular ebony conference
table, as had her predecessor the Matrial, with the wide glass
windows behind her. The deep violet of her tunic did not quite
match her eyes, but the green emerald choker glimmered as if lit
from within the gems, setting off her near-alabaster skin. She
leaned forward, intently listening to the officer who sat on the far
side of the table.

"The Lord-Protector is overextended, especially in the north," the
blond marshal said. "We have pushed the Northern Guard back
from Arwyn, and we may be able to retake Harmony by winter's
end."

"I had thought that was possible."

"For me, Regent, that is difficult to believe. Especially so soon
after… the disaster. Even with the training plans and the other…
information you have obtained."

The Regent smiled, an expression both cold and calculating and
warm simultaneously. "Gold can bring forth much information,
especially if offered to those with greater dreams than their
abilities."

"How many… in all Lanachrona? Might I ask?"

"Not that many. They are not ones to be noticed. Majers and the
like, high enough to know what we need to know and low enough
that few would suspect them."

"I still cannot believe—"

"The lamaial vanished," replied the Regent. "We suspect that he
was the overcaptain who defeated the barbarians in Deforya, but
that is uncertain. What is more certain is that he is no longer in the
Northern Guard. Our informants suggest that he has returned to
being a herder and has no interest in arms, unless the Iron Valleys
are threatened. That is not a mistake we will repeat. Anyone who
has ever attacked them without all other threats removed has
regretted it most bitterly." The necklace flashed, and she laughed
softly, yet with a hard edge to her voice. "Even under the Duarchy,
they were the last to submit and the first to rebel, and so it will be
again. So… we will only push so far as to retake Harmony, and only
as you can do so prudently with more limited forces. Can you send
more lancers to the south?"

"A few more companies. Some of the auxiliaries as well."

"And the second crystal spear-thrower?"

"You wish me to use it against Southgate? That would pose some
risk if the Northern Guard sends additional lancers to its forces."

"Where do you think Colonel Weslyn will find more lancers? The
Lord-Protector forbid him to conscript herders, and the traders will
protest if he conscripts heavily from their communities."

"So he will not have many reinforcements."

"Exactly." The Regent added, "That will allow you to place the
crystal spear-throwers so that both are used against Southgate."

"We can only fire one at a time."

"I know. But if one is on the north side and one on the east…"

Marshal Aluyn nodded. "You wish none of the Lord-Protector's
troops to escape?"

"As few as possible. Those he does not have cannot return to
invade Madrien. The same is true, to a lesser degree, of the
Northern Guard."

"You have risked much, Sulythya… Regent." Aluyn's eyes flickered
to the dark hair of the Regent, hair that had once been far redder
and lighter.

"Not so much as I must risk, Aluyn. Marshal. The times are
changing, and we must be prepared for those changes."

"Have they changed that much, Regent? Or do we see the change
we wish to see?"

"Times will change, Marshal, more than we can imagine. More than
we can possibly imagine."

The slightest frown crossed Aluyn's face, then vanished, but she
did not respond.
Chapter 22

In the gray light of the moments just before dawn, Alucius and
Wendra walked down from the house to the smaller of the two
lambing sheds.

"He's doing much better. It won't be long before he can go with the
flock," Wendra said. "I'll have to watch him more, though."

"Don't take him when you have the flock by yourself," Alucius
suggested. "Not until he's even stronger. You'll have enough to
worry about."

"I'll be careful." Wendra slid the bolt that unlocked the shed.

"That wasn't exactly a promise," Alucius observed.

"No. It wasn't." Wendra grinned. "If you're going to ride off to do
what you think is best, then you can't exactly expect me to stay
here and do anything but what I think is best. Can you?"

Alucius shook his head ruefully and closed the lambing shed door.

"Now," Wendra said. "What was it that you wanted to show me
without your grandsire around?"

"He can't do this."

"And I can?"

"You should be able to. You can sense lifethreads. And lifeforce."

"I know. It's still hard to believe that he can't."

"Most herders can't." So far as Alucius knew, he and Wendra were
the only ones who could, but that might have been because the
soarers had worked with him and he'd worked with Wendra. It
wasn't something that he felt comfortable sharing, except with his
wife, and that, too, was a feeling. "This is something… I can tell
you, and I can show you in a way… but there's no way to actually let
you practice it."

"You make it sound so mysterious."

"I want you to look at the ramlet there… with your Talent. Look at
his lifethread, really closely." Alucius concentrated his own Talent
so that he could feel the reddish black lifethread of the ramlet who
looked up at them from the inside pen. Already, the ramlet had the
nubs of horns that would grow into razor-sharp and curled
weapons, and his lifethread had thickened and strengthened over
the past few weeks so that it was as strong as that of a normal
ramlet—except that he'd been born out of season, and that meant
a hard winter for him.

"What about it?"

"Can you see all the little threads?"

Wendra frowned. "Little threads?"

"The main lifethread is made up of smaller threads, and they're all
twisted together. There's a thicker spot, just out from the body, and
it's, well, usually right out from where an umbilical cord would be."

"I can feel, sort of see, really, the thicker spot."

"That's a lifethread node. If you form a kind of lifeforce probe, like
the darkness, except it has to be more green—"

"Like this?"

A wavery greenish black probe appeared, reaching out from
Wendra.

Alucius blocked it with a shield.

"Why—"

"Because," Alucius said quickly, "if you had touched that node with
it, you could have severed his lifethread and killed him."

"You can kill that way?"

"Oh… yes." Alucius paused. "It's very exhausting, though. That
was what I had to do against the Recorder of Deeds in Tempre,
the one that the ifrit took over, and I was so tired that I could barely
move. Doing too much that way could kill you. It almost did me.
Bullets are better for most things, especially for Talent-creatures."

"Then why do you want me to learn this?"

"Because bullets don't always work against the ifrits. The other
thing, what I was trying to tell you, is that they can also block the
kind of probe that you tried if you just use it like a knife or a spear.
Like I just did, except they're stronger. What you can do is use it to
unravel the lifethreads at the node, because the threads are made
up of smaller threads, and those are made of even smaller ones."

Wendra shivered. "They could do it to us, then?"

"I suppose so—except they never tried." Alucius frowned, trying to
recall his encounters with the ifrits. No… they had never tried to
unravel his lifethread—only to squeeze it or slash it. "They might
not know how… or maybe they never had to worry about that."

"I'd wager on the second," Wendra replied.

So did Alucius. He cleared his throat. "That's it. I mean… that's
what I wanted to show you and what I wanted you to know. I'd
thought about it earlier, but, well, it didn't seem like you'd need it. I
didn't need to use it here on the stead…" His words trailed off.

Wendra stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I
understand."

Alucius hoped so. He really should have showed her earlier, but he
sometimes felt that he was always realizing what he ought to have
done later than he should.
Chapter 23
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

Two men sat at a corner table in the Red Ram. One was Colonel
Weslyn, wearing the blue-trimmed black of the Northern Guard; the
other was the round-faced trader Halanat, in his blue and gray.

"I don't like it," said Weslyn, lowering his mug to the table. "I don't."

"Why not?" asked Halanat. "This Alucius is being sent to Hyalt, and
that is as far as one can get from the Iron Valleys. He's likely to
cause far less difficulty there than here."

"He wasn't causing any trouble at all," replied Weslyn. "He liked
being a herder, and that was fine with me. He was the kind who
cared more for results than what happened later. Short-term ideals,
and no thought of living with the outcome."

"Young officers are often like that."

"I can't see why the Lord-Protector would insist on sending a
marshal all this way to call up an overcaptain and promote him to
majer. He and his marshals never do anything without a reason,
especially one that benefits them. It doesn't make sense."

"It might make great sense from their point of view," suggested the
trader.

"How?"

"The Lord-Protector has a revolt on his hands. If he brings in his
own Southern Guard to put it down, how does that look?"

"It has to be put down. Even I can see that."

"That's true, but no one wants the cost to fall on them. So… he
sends a marshal up here. Didn't this Marshal Frynkel say that he
was on an inspection tour? That way the Lord-Protector can claim
that he sent one of his highest officers to see about
reinforcements. He can also blame Frynkel."

"For what?"

"Is this Alucius not rather… effective? Didn't you say once that he
destroyed an entire band of brigands, something like a hundred of
them—and killed every last man? The Lord-Protector may need
that kind of effectiveness. Would he want to saddle one of his
promising Southern Guard officers with such butchery? If it goes
wrong, he can blame this Alucius without tarnishing the Southern
Guard." Halanat lifted his mug and took the smallest of swallows.

"That makes sense, but it's still going to cause problems for me.
He's being promoted to majer, and that's over more experienced
overcaptains. Compared to them, he knows nothing." Weslyn
frowned, then pulled at his chin. "That will make him one of the
handful of senior officers in the Guard, and he's less than thirty
years old. He's probably closer to twenty-five."

"If he is that inexperienced, then dealing with a revolt in Hyalt will
prove most difficult for him. If he is disgraced or does poorly, that
will not reflect badly upon you."

"And if he is lucky enough to do well?"

"Then you take the credit for originally recognizing his abilities and
for recommending him to the Lord-Protector. You point out, most
politely, that it was his choice to leave the Guard and not yours. If
he chooses to remain active in the Northern Guard, you put him in
charge of the companies fighting in northern Madrien. He was not
so successful against the Matrial, you said, when he first fought her
lancers."

"He was a scout. I cannot gainsay that he is an extremely good
battlefield commander." Weslyn shook his head. "You have said
that his family is good at business. What if he ends up here at
headquarters? If he sees the accounts…"

"Then keep him in the battlefield and away from Dekhron. His luck
cannot last there forever, and, if it does, in another ten years, he
can become Imealt's deputy, and Imealt will have to deal with the
overcaptain."

"Majer," Weslyn corrected. "Like it or not, he's now a majer."

"That is, if he survives," Halanat replied. "Rebellions are most
chancy affairs. One never knows from what direction come the
arrows and slings—or shots."

"Most chancy." Weslyn nodded. "At least, after he heads south, he
will not be my problem, and the Southern Guard will make the
payroll for him and for Fifth Company while they are south of the
River Vedra. At least, that will help." He paused. "The real loss is
Overcaptain Feran. Good solid officer…"
Chapter 24

Late on Decdi afternoon, Royalt met Alucius when the younger
herder was leaving the nightsheep shed after having brought the
flock in and settled them for the night.

Alucius nodded to his grandsire. "You look worried. Is everything
all right?"

"Things around here are fine. Been thinking. You'll be leaving in the
morning, and I wanted to talk a few things over with you before
that." Royalt paused. "You don't mind, do you?"

"You've seen more than I have," Alucius replied. "I can use any
thoughts you have." He slid the last bolt into place, then turned to
walk toward the stead house. "And you usually have a few."

Royalt fell in beside him. "They're sending you to put down a revolt.
That's what this marshal said, and he came all the way from
Tempre to ask you? That seem strange to you?"

Alucius laughed. "You know it's strange. I know it's strange. I just
don't think I could refuse."

"That's right." Royalt paused, then asked, "You ever think about
why people get up in arms, especially when the ruler's not that
bad?"

"Well… either the local authorities haven't done well or there's
something that they don't understand… or it's not local at all, and
someone's stirring up trouble."

"Could be all three," suggested Royalt. "Before you start shooting
these so-called rebels, you need to find out what started the
trouble first… You know, one of the things that caused all the
trouble back with the Reillies… maybe even was what led to your
Da's death… that was that the Council and Colonel Dyalar never
asked what had gotten the Reillies all riled up. Dyalar didn't even
ask, just sent out a bunch of companies and started shooting.
That's one way to shut down a revolt—just kill every last one.
Problem is that if you miss anyone, then they're going to come
back and try to kill you and your side. Just keeps going.
Sometimes, with some folk, there's no other way. But… doesn't
hurt to see if there's another way. Lord-Protector doesn't much
care, I'd guess, how you handle it, so long as everyone gets their
property and stuff back and the troublemakers are taken care of."

"Probably not," Alucius agreed.

"Thing is… they wouldn't be calling you in if it were all that easy.
Means they think some folks are going to get killed. Could be that's
what they want."

"I think the Lord-Protector is looking for a way to get peace for a
long time, and he doesn't know where else to turn. That doesn't
mean the Southern Guard thinks the way he does. I'd wager that
they just don't want to have to take lancers from anywhere else,
and they don't want the blame laid on them."

"Glad to see you understand that." Royalt barked a short laugh.
"You solve this without a lot of bodies, and everyone's going to say
that anyone could have done what you did. You kill a lot of folk, and
the Southern Guard'll come back in and tell everyone you didn't
have to do that, and everyone will behave for a while just so they
don't bring you back. And the Lord-Protector will thank you and
send you back here. You'll be known as the Butcher of Hyalt for so
long as you live, and so long as you're alive, no one's going to do
much in Hyalt to upset the Lord-Protector. So you'll have all sorts
coming up here to do you in."

"You don't make it sound easy."

"I'm probably not telling you anything you don't already know, but
someone has to tell you, just in case you hadn't thought about it."

"Some of it, I had thought about. Hadn't thought about people
trying to kill me long after it was all over."

"Alucius… nothing is ever all over. Nothing," Royalt repeated firmly.

Those words—"nothing is ever all over"—echoed in his thoughts
as he continued to walk toward the stead house, listening to his
grandsire.
Chapter 25

On Londi morning, well before dawn, after Alucius had turned in the
wide bed and wrapped his arms around Wendra one last time, he
slowly swung into a sitting position. He looked back at her, taking in
her face and the warmth within her. He swallowed, thinking of what
lay ahead of him.

She slid into a sitting position beside him, leaning against his
shoulder for a time, and Alucius rested his head against hers.

Finally, he turned and kissed her once more. "I'd better get ready."

She smiled. "You said that earlier."

"I know. But it's later now." Alucius stood and made his way out of
the bedroom to the washroom across the hall. The water was cold,
but not so frigid as it would become as fall followed harvest, and
especially when the cold winter of the north descended upon the
stead. After he washed and shaved, he returned to the bedroom,
where he donned the nightsilk undergarments, then the blue-
trimmed black uniform of a Northern Guard officer—with the silver
insignia of an overcaptain, since he had none for a majer.

Wendra had already dressed and made her way to the kitchen,
where she and Lucenda had breakfast waiting for him.

"Riders a ways out on the lane," announced Royalt, entering the
kitchen. "You're getting an escort this time."

"They want to make sure he doesn't change his mind," said
Lucenda, her voice hard. "Not that he will."

"Now… Lucenda," offered Royalt. "Not as though he's got any
choice. We don't either, not these days."

"I know that. I don't have to like it." She turned to Alucius, her voice
softening. "You'd better eat. You've got a long ride."

"Longer than I'd like," he admitted, seating himself at the end of the
table with his back to the archway into the main room.

Wendra nodded, sitting down to his right.

Alucius ate the egg toast and ham quietly and quickly, glancing
occasionally at Wendra, who ate almost mechanically.

"Pretty clear that they want to get you south quicklike," observed
Royalt after a mouthful of his ham. "Lord-Protector must have his
hands full and then some."

"He should have kept them off us," replied Lucenda tartly.

"Sad as that is," countered Royalt, "we're better off under him than
we were with the last Council."

"Self-centered gold-grubbers, and those were the best of the lot."

"We herders knew that years ago. Just that no one listened to us."
Royalt took a swallow of the cider. "Always that way. Greed usually
drowns common sense."

"Can't swim the rivers of trouble wearing gold armor," added
Lucenda.

Alucius and Wendra traded knowing glances. Royalt winked in their
direction when Lucenda turned back to the hot stove.

When he had finished eating, Alucius stood and walked to the
window. "They're about here. Better get my gear."

He turned and headed toward the rear of the house, and Wendra
followed. In the comparative privacy of their bedroom, he
embraced Wendra one more time, with another lingering kiss.

"You be careful," he whispered. "You and Alendra."

"Shhh…"

Alucius understood the age-old taboo against using the name of an
unborn child, but he had to voice her name at least once before he
left. "Both of you take care."

"You, too."

Reluctantly, he released her and lifted the saddlebags that held a
night-silk vest and his cold weather riding jacket, as well as his
other uniforms and gear—and the nightsilk skull mask that had
proved useful in the past.

Lucenda had vanished from the kitchen when Alucius walked back
through with Wendra, but Alucius had half expected that, knowing
his mother had trouble with his leaving. She always had, from his
first conscription.

Royalt nodded to his grandson. "Just remember to think it through."

"I'll try." Alucius gave his grandsire a smile, and with both rifles in
hand and Wendra by his side, he walked out of the house and
down toward the stable. The lead riders of the Southern Guard
were less than a hundred yards from the stead when the two
herders entered the stable.

Alucius saddled the gray quickly but methodically, strapped his
gear behind the saddle, and set the rifles in the double holsters.
Then he turned. Even as he put his arms around Wendra, hers
were around him.

"I love you," he whispered. "Take care of both of you."

"I love you, too. We want you back."

In time, too short a time, Alucius led his mount out into the cloudy
morning. Wendra remained by the stable door.

What looked to be two squads of mounted Southern Guards stood
in formation behind two officers—Captain Geragt and Marshal
Frynkel.

Frynkel rode forward and reined up short of Alucius. "I thought you
might have trouble getting these." The marshal leaned forward and
extended his hand.

"Thank you." Alucius took the majer's insignia, slipping them into a
pocket for a moment while he removed those of an overcaptain,
then replaced the old insignia with the new. Then he swung up into
the saddle. "If your men would like to water your mounts…"

"Ah… I had them take that liberty. I trusted that you wouldn't mind."
Frynkel's voice was apologetic.

"That's fine." Alucius nodded. "Then we're ready."

Frynkel nodded to Geragt, then eased his mount up beside
Alucius's gray.

"Eighth company!" ordered the captain. "Forward!"

Alucius kept his eyes on Wendra until he was past the stable and
could no longer see her without contorting himself in the saddle.

Once they were on the lane, headed out to the main road, Frynkel
looked at Alucius and at the double rifle holder, as well as the pair
of heavy rifles resting there. His eyes moved to the pack set
behind the gray's saddle. "There wouldn't be an ammunition belt in
there, by any chance?"

"There just might be, sir." Alucius smiled.

"Fifth Company, Northern Guard, was supposed to have reached
Dekhron last night. Overcaptain Feran conveys his regards."
Frynkel chuckled. "He also said that he hoped that this campaign
would be less adventurous than the last time he served under you."

"We can hope that we don't run into pteridons and skylances,"
Alucius said. "But I'd like your thoughts on this revolt. From what
I've seen, the Lord-Protector is a good ruler. So why are people up
in arms against him?"

"We don't know. Not for certain. They're rebels who were living in
the hills to the southwest of Hyalt. They showed up with weapons
and mounts on a Decdi morning at dawn, attacked the two squads
of Southern Guards left there, and slaughtered them to the last
man. Some of the wealthier merchants and crafters managed to
escape. They reported that the insurgents, or the invaders,
numbered more than three hundred armed men. They're mostly
followers of a cult that believes in the return of the True Duarchy,
whatever that might mean."

"A new duarchy under their guidance," suggested Alucius.

"That well might be."

"Wasn't there a post, a fortified one, at Hyalt?" Alucius recalled
having breakfast, years before, with an overcaptain stationed there.
The man had seemed a good sort, and Talent usually allowed a
good judgment of character.

"There was never a hint of trouble. The gates have been open
there for years. They were open that morning." Frynkel shrugged.

Royalt had definitely been right, Alucius reflected. "And what sort
of support will I get from the Southern Guard?"

"Two or three companies of new lancers just out of training, with a
handful of experienced squad leaders and some junior captains,
one who's never seen a battle. You'll pick them up in Krost, where
they're winding up training."

"You have great confidence in me."

"As I heard the story, you took an entire company of green forced
conscripts, broke them free of the Matrial's collars, trained them,
and bested four companies of the Matrial's best. For an officer
who can do that, this should not be all that hard." A smile played
around the marshal's lips. "Of course, I could have heard the story
wrong."

"You heard it mostly right. Except we didn't really best four
companies. We evaded two and attacked the other two. We just
fought well enough to break through them and get home to the Iron
Valleys."

"An officer who doesn't listen to the stories about himself. That's
even rarer than a good battlefield commander, and you're both."

"I did what had to be done," Alucius said.

"That's what all good commanders say."

"And bad ones as well," replied the younger officer.

Frynkel laughed, then went on conversationally. "I was asking
around, Majer, and I was told an interesting story. After you were
released from duty as an overcaptain and were headed back
home, you were attacked by brigands. Some twenty of them. A
senior squad leader said that you'd been badly injured, but that
you'd killed all twenty. Not one brigand survived, he said." The
marshal looked at Alucius. "How true is that?"

Alucius shrugged. "I killed most of them. I don't know how many
others there might have been because I wasn't in very good shape
at the end."

"Amazing story. And no one ever tried to find out why twenty
brigands were sent after you?"

"Not that I know. At that point, I was still recovering and just wanted
to get home. Nothing like that ever happened again. There wasn't
much reason to stir things up."

"And no one ever mentioned it to you? Even indirectly?"

"No one, except family here on the stead, of course."

"Hmmm… You never heard from Colonel Weslyn about the
matter?"

"No, sir. Then, I was no longer on the active rolls. I am certain that
the colonel has had other more pressing concerns. How did you
find him?"

"He was most pleasant, although somewhat puzzled at my
inspection tour. That was another reason for my trip through the
Iron Valleys."

"He has always been most pleasant," Alucius said politely.

"So far as I could tell, he has never been in command in any
skirmish or battle."

"That is something I didn't know."

"He had served two years as a captain sometime ago," Frynkel
continued, "and then headed the guards for a trader—Halanat was
the name, I believe. After the death of a Majer Dysar, about which I
understand you have some knowledge—the Traders' Council
prevailed upon Colonel Clyon to name him as the assistant
commander. Certain irregularities were then removed from the
records. I assume you know what occurred after that."

"Colonel Clyon's strange illness and death? Yes." Alucius
wondered what irregularities had occurred. "As a captain in the
field, I would not have heard about irregularities in Dekhron."

"You were doubtless concerned about more pressing
matters—such as surviving brigand attacks. I was led to believe
that a young trader died under rather mysterious circumstances
following the death of Colonel Clyon's youngest daughter."

"And the young trader was the son of Halanat?"

"No. He was the son of a man called Ostar."

Alucius kept his nod to himself. No wonder the Iron Valleys had
been forced to accept annexation by and union with Lanachrona.
The Traders' Council had had far too little interest in anything but
their own personal schemes and machinations. But then, the Lord-
Protector and the Southern Guard had their schemes and
machinations, and Alucius could only hope that their goals were
somewhat more noble.

"I haven't paid that much attention to what has been happening
outside of the Iron Valleys," Alucius said. "If you would not mind,
since we do have some time on the road, I would appreciate
anything that you could tell me that might bear in any way, however
indirect, upon my commission…"

Frynkel turned in the saddle and looked at the captain who rode
behind them. "Geragt… move up closer. It won't hurt you to hear all
this." Then he cleared his throat and began. "The simplest way to
begin is… Nothing is going quite right. Not disastrously wrong, not
yet, anyway. I'll start in the east. We have some scattered reports
that the new Praetor of Alustre is continuing to increase his
forces…"

Alucius listened intently, hoping somehow that what he heard would
prove even more useful than Frynkel intended.
Chapter 26

The ride to Dekhron was long, even on the roads of the ancients,
and the two squads were forced to stop on the first night at Sudon,
then continue on the next morning to Dekhron. There had been but
a handful of squad leaders and officers at the training base at
Sudon who knew Alurius personally, but all had seemingly heard of
him and his past achievements—and by the time he had finished
breakfast on Duadi, the newly promoted majer was relieved to
mount up and be back on the road to Dekhron.

The clouds of Londi had been replaced by a clear silver-green sky,
with a crisp but light wind out of the northwest. The golden grain in
the fields to the west of the eternastone road bent slightly to the
wind.

Neither Alucius nor Frynkel spoke much until they were a good five
vingts away from Sudon and back on the main road south.

"You have quite a reputation, even today," observed the marshal.
"That is most interesting."

"Why do you think that is interesting, sir?" asked Alucius.

"When all are doing deeds that are honorable and heroic, there are
few with reputations that are heroic, and even fewer stories. The
deeds are told quietly, as if necessary, and then all go out and do
what they must."

"You seem to be suggesting that there are not enough heroic
deeds in the Northern Guard."

"Not exactly, Majer. Those who are true heroes are the men who
do what must be done, with fear in their hearts and full
understanding of the odds and risks they face. That is what you
have done, and I would wager that most of those in your
companies also did the same. When you were decorated by the
Landarch of Deforya, as I recall, you did not wear the Star of
Gallantry. Nor do you now, nor the Star of Honor."

"There were many who deserved those stars, Marshal. Many of
them did not live, but they deserved them as much as I."

"You said that to the Lord-Protector, did you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how did your men speak of what you did?"

"I don't recall that they did, sir. Most of them did not wish to speak
of what we did at all."

"That was my point. When a fighting force must look only to past
heroics and not to present deeds and duties, all is not as it should
be."

"And what of the Southern Guard?"

"I fear that you are also a hero there, if not of quite such great
dimensions." Frynkel laughed softly. "Still… it is a rare man who
has been a hero for three lands before he has reached his thirtieth
year, and even rarer for him to have survived those heroics."

"I was extraordinarily fortunate." As he replied, Alucius could not
help but wonder what had happened over the past two years, and
how Lanachrona had gotten into such a situation.

"You doubtless were, and let us hope that such fortune continues.
We all could benefit from such." Frynkel smiled. "Now… I should
tell you more about the geography of the hills to the southwest of
Hyalt."

Alucius nodded, listening.
Chapter 27
Alustre, Lustrea

The man who sat in the unadorned silver chair on the dais wore the
silver-and-black jacket of the Praetor with the matching silver
trousers. He scowled, the expression making his youthful face ugly
rather than older. Although he tossed his head slightly, his short
and pale blond hair did not move at all. Neither did his black eyes,
which remained fixed on the two men in the tunics of Praetorian
Engineers.

"You have been working for nearly two years in Prosp, and you can
report nothing beyond this? " He lifted a thin sheaf of paper.

"Honored Praetor Tyren," replied the taller and broader engineer,
his eyes still downcast, "it took more than half a year to clean out
the rubble, sir. You instructed us to be most careful and to try to
salvage all that we could. We took the utmost care."

"There was no sign of Vestor?"

"Ah… his clothes and possessions were there, lying on the floor,
as if he had vanished and they had fallen on the floor. There was a
pistollike weapon, but nothing like anything we'd seen before. It
was crushed, and we've been working to see if we can replicate it."

"Why not just repair it?" Tyren's voice carried untarnished sarcasm.

"It was destroyed beyond all repair."

For a moment, there was silence before the Praetor spoke again.
"In this report, you claim that the Table was unbroken. How could
that be when two stories of building stones collapsed over it so that
nothing was left but a heap of rock?"

"Sir, that was what we found. The Table was untouched. The
stones that collapsed on it cracked and broke, but there is not a
scratch upon it. As you instructed, we rebuilt the structure around it,
but with greater reinforcements."

"Have you had any success with the Table?"

"No, sir. It has a faint glow in pitch darkness, but we can find neither
the source of the glow nor an explanation for why it might glow."

"There are no records of what Vestor did?"

"Ah… yes, honored Praetor… he did leave some records and
notes…" replied the slimmer and shorter engineer.

"Then why have you not used them to decipher the mysteries of
the Table?"

"We cannot read them," confessed the slim engineer. "They
appear to be in the ancient Duarchial script, and there is no one
alive who can read such."

"If there is no one alive who can read it, just how did Vestor learn it
well enough to write it?"

"We don't know, sir," admitted the broader man. "He never talked
to anyone about what he was doing. There are some notebooks,
older ones that date to several years back, and those were written
in Lustrean, and we have used those to reconstruct one crystal
tank. We have been successful in rebuilding one of the light-knives
similar to those that were successful against the pteridons of the
nomads."

"Partly successful," corrected Tyren.

"Yes, Praetor."

"You call yourselves engineers." Tyren snorted. "You might as well
call my staff of office one of the Scepters of the Duarchy. A name
does not make it so. You may go. Endeavor to learn something
more from the Table, if you would. And continue to construct more
of the light-knives."

"Yes, honored Praetor."

Neither man met the eyes of the Praetor. They both bowed and
retreated from the receiving hall.
Chapter 28

Under a clear silver-green sky, with the sun just nearing its
noontime zenith, Frynkel, Geragt, and Alucius rode side by side on
the eternastone road toward Dekhron. Behind them rode two
squads of Southern Guards. They had just passed the stone
announcing that the former capital of the once-independent Iron
Valleys lay but two vingts ahead.

"Majer?" Frynkel said.

"Yes, sir?"

"You will need to present yourself to Colonel Weslyn. Since you
now report to the Lord-Protector and are under my direct
command, that is merely a courtesy and a formality, but a prudent
one. As I mentioned earlier, your pay and that of the companies
under you, including Fifth Company, will also be borne by the
Southern Guards, as will all supplies and equipment once you
leave Dekhron."

"The colonel cannot be too displeased with that."

Frynkel offered a crooked smile. "About the golds, no. As I am
certain you have considered, he is likely to be less pleased that
one of his inactive overcaptains has been promoted to one of the
highest ranks in the Northern Guard without his approval and that
the same officer will be under the command of and working with
the senior officers of the Southern Guard. He also will have thought
out that your reputation is both impeccable and unassailable."

"In short," replied Alucius, "he will be most polite, most courteous,
and doubtless would not be grieved in the slightest if lightning
struck me or some other unlikely calamity occurred."

"That would be a good working assumption, although, if he is as I
suspect, he would probably not wish any calamity upon you until
after you complete your duties in Hyalt."

Alucius understood that all too well, because the Lord-Protector
might well continue the operation in Hyalt with Feran, and Feran's
success—and long-standing career—would make Feran an even
greater threat to the colonel.

Before that long, they neared the outskirts of Dekhron. The town
itself seemed little changed from Alucius's last time there, more
than two years earlier. The houses were crowded together and
built of the same uneven mixtures of stones scavenged
generations earlier from even older buildings. Few of the shutters
and doors were painted, and on more than half of those the paint
was chipped or peeling, or both. Most of the side streets were of
packed clay swirled with red dust. Only the eternastone of the high
road seemed fresh and new, if also dusty, and it was older than
everything else, Alucius reflected.

As they neared Northern Guard headquarters, Alucius squared
himself in the saddle. He couldn't honestly say that he was looking
forward to seeing Colonel Weslyn again.

The headquarters complex was also unchanged, not that Alucius
had expected much change in two years. The stone wall enclosed
a square half a vingt on a side, and stables, barracks, and officers'
quarters were all of dressed limestone, with split-slate roofs on all
the buildings and stone pavement covering all the courtyard
spaces.

The two troopers on sentry duty stiffened as the column
approached.

"Marshal, Majer… welcome to Guard headquarters," called out the
older trooper.

"Thank you," replied Frynkel and Alucius, almost simultaneously.

"… was the majer?" murmured the younger sentry, in a voice
almost too low to be heard.

"The one with the dark gray hair? That's Overcaptain Alucius.
Majer, it looks like now. He's the one who killed a thousand
barbarians by himself, then was sander-near killed in an ambush
and still took fifty brigands down and rode ten kays holding his guts
in. Brother served under him. Best troop commander ever…"

"Oh…"

As Alucius reined up before the main headquarters building, he
smiled. There had only been twenty brigands in the ambush, and it
had taken weeks for him to recover.

"You've got quite a reputation, Alucius," Frynkel murmured with a
smile. "The impressive thing is that most of it's true."

"Maybe a little."

The marshal shook his head. "Go ahead and see the colonel. I'll
meet with him after you do, while you're getting things settled with
Overcaptain Feran and Fifth Company."

Alucius dismounted, then tied the gray to the stone post before
opening the worn oak door and stepping into the anteroom outside
Colonel Weslyn's spaces. A ranker looked up, momentarily
surprised, taking in the uniform and the majer's insignia. "Oh, sir,
you must be Majer Alucius."

"That's right. I'm here to see Colonel Weslyn."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you, sir. He was asked to meet with
the new Traders' Council this afternoon, and he hoped you'd get
here before it got too late." The ranker rose. "If you'd just wait a
moment, sir, I'll let him know you're here."

"Thank you." Alucius offered a pleasant smile, concealing a frown
at the extreme deference. Was that because the ranker feared
him—thinking that he had a direct link to the Lord-Protector?

The ranker slipped through the door into the colonel's study,
closing the door behind him, but reappearing almost immediately in
the anteroom. "Please go in, sir."

Alucius nodded and stepped through the door, in turn closing it
behind him.

The tall and broad-shouldered colonel was already standing behind
the wide desk. "It's been a while, Majer," offered Weslyn, gesturing
to one of the chairs across from him and reseating himself. "You're
looking good… and very fit."

"Thank you." Alucius settled into one of the chairs across from
Weslyn. He noted that the colonel's thick hair now contained more
silver than blond, and a welter of fine lines extended from the
corners of his eyes. His Talent sense also showed that the
colonel's lifethread was normal—the same amber brown, without
the second purpled thread that was the sign of ifrit possession.
But… there was the faintest hint of purpleness, as if Weslyn had
been near an ifrit or influenced by one. That realization hit Alucius
like a wall of cold water, and he was silent for a long moment.

Yet, there was little he could do about that, not at the moment. He
had no way of knowing if Weslyn had simply met an ifrit, not even
recognizing it, or was a marginal agent of the ifrits. And what was
he going to do? Tell Frynkel that ifrits existed and that, because
Weslyn had been near one, Alucius would have to back out of the
mission to Hyalt?

He tried to use his Talent to get a better feel about the vague
purple-ness that hovered around Weslyn's lifethread, but the
feeling was so dispersed that he had no way of tracking it or
knowing if Weslyn were even aware of being influenced. Or, in fact,
if the senior officer was being affected.

"You've been tasked with a rather important mission by the Lord-
Protector," Weslyn finally said. "How well you do will certainly
reflect on the entire Northern Guard." The colonel's smile was
warm and professional, and Alucius trusted it little.

"I do understand that, and that was something I had to think over.
Yet, if I rejected a request from the Lord-Protector," Alucius
replied, "that would not have spoken well for either the Iron Valleys
or the Northern Guard." He offered a disarming smile and a shrug.
"So I thought that the best course was to accept."

"Ah, yes. If one faces difficult situations, it is always better to try
and fail than fail to try."

"But it is far better to try and to succeed," Alucius replied politely.
"That is my goal. As it has always been."

"You've been most fortunate in that, and the Guard sincerely hopes
that fortune will continue to follow you."

Alucius could sense that Weslyn was suggesting luck as the
reason for Alucius's past success almost to annoy the younger
officer. So he forced another smile. "We will certainly welcome
luck, but we won't be relying on good fortune. It's safer that way."

"That it is. Let us hope you have that fortune as well."

Alucius paused slightly, then asked, "Could I ask how the Lord-
Protector's campaign to the west is coming?"

Weslyn tilted his head, offering a hearty smile, the false one that
Alucius had disliked from the first time he'd seen it. "The campaign
is progressing entirely as planned. I am sure that the marshal can
tell you whatever else you wish to know on your way to Tempre. I
assume he will be returning there with you."

In short, Alucius decided, the advances were stalled in the
northwest, and Weslyn wouldn't know about the southwest, and the
colonel wasn't about to admit anything. "I'm glad to hear that." He
smiled politely again.

Weslyn returned the smile. "I do appreciate your courtesy in
stopping to see me."

"I could do no less," Alucius replied. "Not for a commander who
has always been most supportive and who has spoken so
eloquently on behalf of the Guard." That sentence did not quite
choke Alucius, although it was certainly true to the letter of the
words.

Weslyn paused, as if he had not quite expected the answer,
before replying. "We wish you the very best in your efforts in Hyalt.
I will not keep you. I know you have much to do." He rose from
behind the desk.

Alucius stood quickly as well. "Thank you." He paused, then asked
quickly, "I had heard you would be meeting with the Traders'
Council. Is this a new council? I had thought the old one…" He let
the words drift off.

"Oh… this is just a group of traders who decided to meet because
they felt they needed to act together in these troubled times."

"Thank you. I hadn't heard about that." Alucius bowed his head
briefly. "By your leave, sir?"

Weslyn nodded, and Alucius left the study, closing the door gently
behind him.

Feran was actually standing outside the colonel's office, talking to
Marshal Frynkel. "… worried some about the ammunition… hard to
get south of the Vedra… larger bore…"

"We made provisions for that…"

Both men broke off speaking and turned toward Alucius.

Feran didn't look much older… not to Alucius. He had the same
brown hair, except with a touch more gray, the same deep lines
radiating from the corners of his eyes, gray eyes that still held the
hint of a twinkle, and a sense of not taking everything in life too
seriously—only the important matters. He smiled warmly.
"Alucius… or should I say 'Majer'?"

"Feran… it's good to see you. And you did make overcaptain."

The older Northern Guard officer laughed. "Not much before you
made majer, I think."

Alucius looked to Marshal Frynkel.

The marshal nodded. "He also holds a temporary commission as
an overcaptain in the Southern Guard. It ensures a clear chain of
command."

That made sense to Alucius. It also suggested a difficult
campaign.

"After you and Overcaptain Feran have taken care of what you
need, and after I say a few more words to Colonel Weslyn, I'd like
to suggest that the three of us and Captain Geragt have supper at
the Red Ram," said the marshal. "Say, a glass from now?"

Alucius looked to Feran.

Feran nodded.

"Yes, sir," Alucius told Frynkel.

"I'll see you outside the senior officers' quarters then." Frynkel
turned and walked past the ranker straight to Weslyn's door,
opening it and letting himself in.

Feran smothered a smile.

"Why don't we go on outside?" suggested Alucius.

"Sir? Majer Alucius?" interjected the ranker. "You have the second
of the senior officers' rooms, between the marshal and
Overcaptain Feran."

"Thank you."

Alucius didn't say more until they were outside the building, and he
had untied his mount and walked the gray toward the stables. Then
he looked at Feran. "What's really happening out west?"

"We're about to get our asses handed to us, unless winter comes
early." Feran shook his head. "Most of the men are relieved to be
headed south."

"Is this… Regent that good a commander? I can't believe… all the
collared troops would fight…"

"We've invaded them. The past fades pretty quick when your
enemies are at your doorstep. We're seen as Lanachronans now.
That doesn't help."

"Do you think she has gotten the collars working again?" Alucius
didn't see how that was possible, since he'd destroyed the giant
crystal that controlled them, but he supposed stranger things had
happened. And the Regent had to have done something to rally
Madrien.

"We didn't have enough close combat to tell. They still wore them.
Couldn't tell if they were working. No one's said anything, and they
were tough enough when they did have collars before." Feran
shrugged.

"You at full strength?" asked Alucius.

"To the man. The last five just arrived from Sudon this morning."

"How many are just out of training?"

"It's not too bad. Twelve, and I've spread them out through all five
squads. All the squad leaders are pretty good." He laughed. "They
should be. You trained half of them."

Alucius led the mount toward the open stable door. An ostler
hurried up. "Sir… can I help?"

"In a moment, after I get him stalled and unloaded." Alucius smiled
at the youthful stable hand. "Any possibility of some extra grain?
He's had a long ride."

"Yes, sir. We can manage that. Oh… you're in the third stall there,
sir."

Alucius ended up unsaddling and grooming the gray while he
talked to Feran.

"… heard there was another of those crystal spear-throwers…"

"… we were on the midroad… said they used it sometimes to
throw back the attack on Arwyn… another reason why the men
aren't that upset about going south and not facing the Regent's
lancers…"

"What about the squad leaders you got from Twenty-first
Company? Egyl and Faisyn…"

Feran smiled. "Egyl's Fifth Company's senior squad leader, and
Faisyn has first squad, and Zerdial fifth. Sawyn got sent to Eighth
Company… doing fine. Anslym… he got sent to Twelfth. They got
hit hard at Arwyn. He… didn't make it."

"Sorry to hear about that…"

"We all were. Problem is that Dyabal wasn't that good a captain."

Alucius frowned. "Dyabal?"

"Dysar's youngest brother—stepbrother really."

Alucius nodded. Somehow, that figured.

Before all that long, or so it seemed to Alucius, he had stowed his
gear in the second room on the upper level of the quarters, the
same room he had had once before—a good six yards by four,
with a double-width bed, a large writing desk, twin wall lamps, an
armoire, a weapons rack, boot trees, and an attached washroom.
All of that was a far cry from where he had started years before as
a conscript in a long barracks with over a hundred other lancers.

Feran was waiting outside when Alucius finished washing up.

"First time I've been put up in the fancy quarters," Feran said.

"It's only the second time here for me."

"They have to for you," Feran pointed out. "You know that you're
the fourth-ranking officer in the entire Northern Guard?"

"Fourth-ranking?"

"There's Weslyn, and his deputy—"

"Is that still Imealt?"

Feran nodded and continued, "and there's Majer Lujat. He's in
charge of everything in North Madrien."

"How is he? I've never met him."

"Not bad. Not quite so good as you in sensing what's happening in
a battle, but he listens to his captains and squad leaders,
especially the senior squad leaders, because a lot of the captains
aren't that good."

"Why not?"

"Weslyn picked them," Feran said dryly. "Anyway, Majer Lujat's got
a good feel for what companies can do what."

"And he's still in command?"

"The colonel has to report results to the Lord-Protector," Feran
said dryly. "And Majer Lujat is only about three years from a full
stipend. He's made it clear that he has no interest in serving in
Dekhron."

"Smart man," murmured Alucius.

"I thought you were, until I heard you'd agreed to this," Feran said,
the faintest smile appearing in his eyes.

"I didn't see that I had much of a real choice. If the Lord-Protector
has to shift—"

"I know. Same tale, told again. No support, and the Guard pulls
back to defend the southern part of the Iron Valleys. You herders
get squeezed again." After a moment, Feran asked. "How's your
wife?"

"Lovely… helpful, and more able than I'd ever have believed."
Alucius almost had said that Wendra was more Talented. He'd
have to get back into the habit of being more closed-mouthed now
that he was off the stead.

"Can't tell you're still in love or anything."

Alucius flushed.

Feran laughed. "Wager you brought writing paper."

"That's not even a wager. I just hope I'll have time to write." And
that the messages actually get to Wendra, he added silently.

"Here comes the marshal."

Alucius turned. Although Frynkel had a smile on his face, as did
Geragt, Alucius could sense anger in the marshal.

"It's been a long day, a very long day," Frynkel said. "Time for a
good ale."

"I'd agree," Alucius replied.

He found himself walking beside the marshal, who was clearly
disinclined to talk, with Feran and Geragt following.

Less than a hundred yards south of the post, the Red Ram was an
old redstone building set on the corner, with ancient and narrow
windows. The graying Elyset met them at the door. She smiled
professionally.

Alucius inclined his head to the proprietress, projecting warmth and
friendliness, as he had done once years before. "It's good to see
you again." He grinned. "You suggested the quail the last time. Is it
still the tastiest thing you have?"

Elyset laughed. "Majer or not, you're still a trooper. Don't have any
quail today. No pheasant, either, but the noodles and fowl are
good." She turned to Frynkel with a smile. "We don't see marshals
often, and I've seen you more than a few times in the past week.
Best we get you seated." She led the way toward the corner
beside a cold hearth covered with a wicker screen. "Be quiet here
this evening."

Frynkel took the seat in the corner, and Alucius sat to his left,
across from Feran.

Instead of a server coming to the table, Elyset stayed. "Expect you
know the drinks—ale, lager, wine. Right now, we've got stew.
Always stew. Lamb cutlets, and the Vedra chicken with the heavy
noodles. And lymbyl."

"I'll have ale and lymbyl," Frynkel said. "And the heavy dark bread."

Alucius had never liked the eel-like lymbyl. "The ale… and you
suggested the fowl and noodles. Is that the Vedra chicken?"

"That's it. You want it?"

"Yes, with the dark bread, too."

Feran and Geragt both opted for the chicken, and Feran took ale,
but Geragt asked for wine.

The drinks arrived almost as soon as Elyset left, brought by a taller
and younger woman.

Frynkel lifted his ale. "To a successful campaign."

"To a successful campaign," echoed the other officers.

Even as he repeated the words, Alucius wondered how one
judged a campaign against a revolt or a rebellion as successful,
but he merely took a swallow of the ale and waited to see what else
the marshal might offer.

"You know this won't be the usual campaign," Frynkel said after a
long swallow of ale.

"I imagine not," Alucius replied. "Dead people don't pay tariffs, and
if the rebels believe deeply, you either have to kill very few or all of
them."

A puzzled expression flitted across Geragt's face. Feran offered
the hint of an amused smile.

Frynkel chuckled. "You've been thinking." He turned toward Geragt.

"He's right. If the rebels believe deeply that the Lord-Protector is
wrong or evil, for every man that the majer kills, two others will take
up arms. That's because the deaths will prove to others that the
Lord-Protector is evil."

"Or something like that," murmured Feran under his breath.

"Needless to say, it couldn't have come at a worse time, which is
why it did," added the marshal, lifting his right hand to his eye to
calm it. "We not only have to fight the Regent, but attacks on
Southgate by Dramurian warships, and unrest by our own
merchants who want tariffs lowered because the costs of all goods
traded anywhere outside of Lanachrona are going up. Of course,
we need higher tariffs to protect the merchants and traders, but
they don't see that."

"Why is all this happening now?" asked Feran.

"Because people take advantage of weakness, I'd judge," replied
Frynkel. "The True Duarchists have been preaching against the
Lord-Protector of Lanachrona for generations. There was a small
revolt there when the Lord Talryn's grandsire was Lord-Protector.
They waited until they thought the time was right, when they thought
that the Lord-Protector couldn't bring many troops to Hyalt. It could
be they figured he might well ignore it, because it's out of the way."

"So why didn't he, sir?" pressed Feran politely.

"Out of the way or not, it sets an example. The dryland spice
traders of Soupat might decide they'd like to be independent. Or
the mountaineers near Indyor. The Deforyan Council has already
decided to impose exorbitant tariffs on our traders. Who knows
what would be next?"

"Where did they come up with the golds for weapons and
ammunition?" asked Alucius. "Does anyone know?"

"No," admitted Frynkel. "We went through all the trading records,
but that doesn't mean much."

"Not if someone wanted to hide it," Alucius said. "Or if they were
smuggled in from Madrien."

"It is shorter from Madrien, and the Regent of the Matrial will try
anything to weaken Lanachrona," mused the marshal.

"Would these True Duarchists accept weapons from Madrien?"
asked Feran.

"Who's to say that they'd even know where the weapons came
from? They're the same standard that we use—not as heavy as
those monsters you in the Northern Guard carry—but they could
come from any number of gunsmiths. I doubt that the Duarchists
care in the slightest." Frynkel followed the words with a dry laugh.

The more Alucius heard, the more everything seemed to make
sense—and the more he felt he was missing something. He
decided to follow his grandsire's advice once more, and listen as
much as he could and say as little as possible.

He took another small swallow of the ale. It, at least, was good.
Chapter 29

Early on Tridi, just after the Northern Guard muster, Alucius sat
mounted on the gray as Fifth Company formed up on the north
side of the courtyard. Eighth Company of the Southern Guard was
forming up on the other side, south of the headquarters building.

Alucius watched and listened while Feran addressed Fifth
Company. Mounted beside and slightly back of Feran was the
senior squad leader—Egyl—who'd been Alucius's senior squad
leader after Longyl had been killed battling the nomads led by
Aellyan Edyss. Alucius wondered how many other men he'd
recognize.

"… be leaving shortly, but there will be a brief inspection by Majer
Alucius. Full open ranks!"

"Full open ranks!" repeated Egyl, his voice booming across the
courtyard. "Ready for inspection!"

"Fifth Company stands ready for inspection, sir," Feran reported.

"Thank you, Overcaptain." Alucius guided his gray along the first
rank of first squad, followed by Feran, then by Egyl.

Alucius couldn't help but note the square-faced first squad scout.
"Waris… you ready for this?"

"Yes, sir!"

The fifth trooper was also a man he recalled. "Skant. Are you ready
for warmer weather than we had in Emal?"

"Yes, sir… so long as it's not too hot."

As he rode through the open ranks of Fifth Company, he managed
to recall more than a few names and incidents, including Reltyr,
who had suffered more than a few problems with an unfaithful wife
when Twenty-first Company had been stationed at Emal before the
annexation. Although the inspection seemed to take a long time,
only slightly more than a half glass had passed by the time he
returned to the front of the Fifth Company.

"That was good, sir," Feran said quietly. "You got most of them."

"And the ones I didn't will be wondering why I didn't…"

"Better they're wondering than thinking you don't remember
anyone."

Alucius hoped so. He eased his gray away from Feran. "I'll let the
marshal know we're ready."

Feran grinned. "Sir… you're supposed to have me send
someone."

Alucius shrugged helplessly. "I have to get back to being an officer
and not a herder."

The overcaptain turned. "Egyl… send one of the scouts to inform
the marshal that Majer Alucius and Fifth Company stand ready to
depart."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius glanced toward the headquarters building, but he did not
see Colonel Wesyln. That was not surprising. Doubtless the
colonel was on the south side, seeing Marshal Frynkel off. Alucius
couldn't help but wonder whether Weslyn knew that Frynkel neither
cared for him nor respected him. He supposed the colonel knew.
Weslyn was too astute in playing the political currents not to know.
That was one aspect of being a Northern Guard officer that Alucius
could easily have done without, although his Talent was
extraordinarily useful in sensing those types of undercurrents.

"They'll be waiting," Feran suggested.

"No doubt of that. They probably didn't do an inspection, although I
wouldn't have put it past the marshal."

"I wouldn't, either."

Shortly after Waris returned from delivering the message, from the
far side of the courtyard on the south side of the headquarters
building came the command, "Eighth Company! Forward!"

"We'll hold till Eighth Company clears the gates," Alucius said.

Feran nodded.

Before too long, Alucius inclined his head to Feran.

"Fifth Company! Forward!"

As he and Feran led Fifth Company, from behind the last riders
Alucius could hear the wheels of the supply wagons on the stone
pavement of the courtyard. The sound of iron on stone diminished
once the wagons rolled out through the gate and onto the hard-
packed clay of the avenue that led eastward to the eternastone
road south through Dekhron.

The buildings in Dekhron were similar to those in Iron Stem, mostly
built of salvaged stone, and with either tile or slate roofs. Too many
of the shutters had peeling paint, or none at all. While a number of
the older dwellings nearest the river piers were two or even three
stories in height, they looked even more run-down, as if they were
boardinghouses for the poorer dock and river workers.

The trading buildings near the center of Dekhron had been better
maintained, and several sported fresh paint and clean glass
windows. Still, Dekhron appeared quieter than the last time Alucius
had been there—with but a handful of people on the streets—and
that surprised him, after having heard from Kyrial and Kustyl that
trade had recently picked up in the river town.

At the eastern end of the avenue, Eighth Company turned south
onto the eternastone high road, and Alucius and Fifth Company
followed, riding past the last several blocks before the river.

The high road leaving Dekhron and leading to the bridge reminded
Alucius of Hieron, because the causeway leading to the bridge had
been built long before the trade section of the town beside the
river. Several inclined roads had been constructed later to connect
to the eternastone pavement. As Alucius rode up the causeway out
of Dekhron, the sound of hoofs from the Eighth Company ahead of
him echoed off the eternastone pavement and side walls of the
ancient Duarchial bridge over the River Vedra. It was a bridge
Alucius might have called grand years before, arching over the
river and standing out against the low dwellings of Salaan on the
south side of the river. But, after having seen the massive and
graceful structures over the Vedra at Hieron, or the stone canyon
through the Upper Spine Mountains, the bridge he crossed
seemed more of a marvel as a part of a system of highways and
bridges that had endured for thousands of years—a dark marvel,
because he was one of the very few who knew the cost that
system had imposed on Corus.

The bridge itself held a roadway twice the width of the high road,
but without the dividing curb of the larger bridges Alucius had seen
in Madrien. The stone guardhouse on the southern side still had
not been torn down, as Feran had done to the one in Emal more
than two years before, and that also troubled Alucius. From
Alucius's point of view, such remnants of the near-open former
hostilities between the Iron Valleys and Lanachrona would best
have been removed as soon as possible.

Just beyond the southern end of the bridge, to the left, had been
the Southern Guard fort. Alucius glanced eastward. The center and
building and the barracks and stables remained, but the glass was
gone from the windows, and stones had been knocked out of the
stable walls and removed. He looked away, shaking his head.

"What is it?" asked Feran.

"The Southern Guard—just packed up and left their fort. There
won't be anything left in another year or two except rubble. It
seems like such a waste."

"They don't want to spend the golds to keep it up, and who would
buy it?"

"I know." It was another thing that bothered Alucius. Too much was
getting more run-down. But there wasn't anything he could do
about that. Instead, he looked ahead to the high road, diverging
gradually from the River Vedra as it headed southwest, and he
thought of the long ride ahead, each glass carrying him farther from
the stead, from Wendra, and from their daughter.
Chapter 30

Two long days later found the two companies on the high road at
the place where it once more met the River Vedra.

"Marshal's picking up the pace," Feran noted.

"It's only about a glass to the post here." Alucius studied the
steads and fields, taking in the two rivers, the Vyana to his left,
running westward through the lower fields to the south, and the
Vedra to his right. Before all that long, even through the dust raised
by Eighth Company, the walls of Borlan Post appeared on the right
side of the high road ahead, set on the higher triangle of land
formed by the junction of the River Vedra and the River Vyana.

Fifth Company followed Eighth up the cracked pavement of the
side road to the post, slowing and then halting for a time just
outside the gates—gates without sentries, Alucius noted.

From somewhere ahead, Alucius heard a greeting. "Marshal
Frynkel, welcome to Borlan Post! You do us honor, and we offer all
that we can to ease your journey."

Alucius recalled similar words, delivered in a similar tone, and he
wondered if Majer Ebuin still remained at Borlan.

Fragments of Frynkel's response drifted back.

"… appreciate the welcome, Majer… your courtesy and support…
most welcome… two full companies… Majer Alucius… Northern
Guard… may recall him… Overcaptain Feran…"

The blond majer—who was indeed Ebuin—remained outside the
post headquarters building, waiting for Alucius and Fifth Company,
while the marshal and Eighth Company had moved on toward the
stables.

"Majer." Alucius inclined his head as he reined up once more. "I'm
pleased to see you. This is Overcaptain Feran, in command of
Fifth Company."

"It's good to see you again, Majer… and to meet you,
Overcaptain."

Feran nodded.

"Are you now the post commandant?" Alucius asked politely.

Ebuin nodded. "I am. Captain-colonel Yermyn was stipended in the
spring, and Borlan Post will be reduced to a travel post under a
captain at the turn of the year. I'll remain here until the changeover."

Alucius hadn't really considered that the annexation of the Iron
Valleys would also have had a wide-ranging impact on Lanachrona,
but it certainly made no sense to retain a large outpost at Borlan
now that the northern side of the Vedra was part of Lanachrona. In
fact, as he considered it, he had to wonder why the reduction had
not occurred earlier. "Do you know where you'll be posted then?"

Ebuin shrugged. "Best we get your men." He raised a hand, and a
Southern Guard stepped forward from behind him. "Squad Leader
Henthyn can help get your squad leaders oriented. You know
where the officers' stable is. Marshal Frynkel will be taking the
commandant's quarters, and that will allow each of you a room in
the visiting officers's quarters."

"Thank you."

Alucius and Feran rode to the stables, where they unsaddled and
groomed their mounts. Then Alucius—carrying his rifles and
saddlebags—led the way to the structure behind the headquarters
building, climbing up the steps to the upper level. As he recalled,
their rooms would be the last three—all sharing a single washroom.

Alucius had the end room, slightly larger but still modest, with a
bed for one, a writing desk, boot and weapons racks, and a narrow
armoire.

While Feran checked on Fifth Company, Alucius used the cool
water in the washroom to clean up, then to wash out one uniform
and one set of nightsilk undergarments. After dressing in his other
uniform, he made his way down the steps. Then he stopped. What
was he going to do? He'd only get in Feran's way, and the older
officer knew his duties, probably far better than Alucius did at the
moment.

Alucius climbed back up the steps and reentered his temporary
quarters. He seated himself at the writing desk. Here he was, a
majer in charge of one company and shortly to be in charge of
three or four, and he'd never thought about exactly how he was
going to handle things. He hadn't been given any instruction or
ideas, either from the marshal or from Colonel Weslyn, and he
needed to set up some sort of structure to run three or four
companies, and one that didn't take many lancers.

He was still jotting down notes when Feran knocked on the door to
the quarters.

"Majer… the marshal has asked us to join him for supper…"

Alucius quickly stood. He had most of his ideas down in rough
form, not that there were all that many.

"What were you doing?" asked Feran, as Alucius stepped out of
his quarters.

"Trying to figure out how to run three or four companies without
riding over my own mount."

"You've done that before."

"Ride over my own mount? Several times, at least."

Feran frowned. "You were in charge of all the companies on the
way back from Deforya."

"We didn't have to do all that much except ride west on the
highway," Alucius pointed out dryly. He started down the steps to
the lower level. "That didn't take much skill. Here, we're going to be
trying to put down a rebellion, and I'd guess that's going to mean
different companies in different places."

"So… what do you have in mind?"

"There's a chain of command, and you're next in line. Frynkel's
taken care of that by making sure you have a commission in both
the Northern and Southern Guard." He stopped as they neared the
mess. "We can go over it later."

Feran nodded.

The marshal and Captain Geragt were standing in the small mess,
with its three tables, talking in low voices with Ebuin as Feran and
Alucius arrived.

"… kind who will do what needs to be done…"

"… seemed that kind before…"

Frynkel broke off his words to Ebuin and cleared his throat. "Now
that we're all here…"

Ebuin gestured to Frynkel. "Marshal… we're not formal here. If you
would do the honors?"

With a nod, the marshal took a seat at the larger circular table, the
only one set. Following the marshal, Alucius seated himself,
followed by Ebuin and Feran, then by Geragt.

"As I once told Majer Alucius," Ebuin said, "the ale is good. It's one
of the best parts of meals here, and that's why there are two
pitchers set out." He took the pitcher and filled the beaker before
the marshal.

Ebuin kept looking at Frynkel, and Alucius could sense that, for all
Ebuin's outward heartiness, the majer was fretting about
something.

A server appeared and set two large platters in the center of the
circular table. The first held long slices of meat covered with brown
sauce, garnished with lime slices. The second held glazed and
fried rice.

"Whistlepig?" asked Alucius, although he thought he recognized
the dish.

Feran looked at Alucius quizzically.

"It's one of the specialties of Borlan," replied the other majer.
"They're like scrats, except much larger and tamer, and taste like
fowl."

The marshal served himself, as did the others in turn.

As he ate, Alucius decided, once more, that despite what Ebuin
said, whistlepig was not so good as fowl, especially not so good
as the Vedra chicken at the Red Ram, but far better than much he
had eaten over the years.

"Have you received any dispatches from Krost or Tempre that
would be of interest?" Frynkel glanced at Ebuin.

"There have been very few. Arms-Commander Wyerl will be
shirting the Southern Guard out of all the outposts along the Vedra
east of Tempre, except here at Borlan, by the turn of the year."

"They'll all go west?" suggested Alucius.

"More than likely," Frynkel replied. "Not that I've been told yet.
What else?"

"All lancers in either Northern or Southern Guard whose service is
due to expire at the turn of winter or spring have been extended
another season, until more trainees are ready. As possible, they
will be used in training assignments."

Feran frowned, as did Geragt.

Alucius had doubts about whether such assignments would really
be offered, especially for the Northern Guard.

"Such refreshingly cheerful news," Frynkel said sardonically. "And
how are the crops here in Borlan?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. Not for certain, but there's not too much
complaining."

The marshal turned to Alucius. "Majer, you've heard about the
overthrow of the Landarch by the large landowners of Deforya. You
are certainly the most experienced officer to serve there in many
years. What do you make of that?"

Alucius took a small swallow of ale before replying. "The Landarch
was trying to balance the needs of his land against the demands of
the landowners. You may have read my report on the structure of
the Deforyan Lancers. Most of their overcaptains are the younger
sons of the large landowners. The undercaptains and captains
come from the crafters and less prosperous merchants. That
means that those with wealth control the water supply through the
aqueducts, the lancers through their officers, and trade and
business through their golds."

"Then why did the Landarch not fall years before?" asked Ebuin.

"It's only a guess, but I would judge that his power lay in the long
tradition of the Landarchy and in the distrust between landowners.
They felt they needed someone who was beholden to all the
landowners and not to any one of them."

"Why would you judge the landowners overthrew him now?"
Frynkel's words expressed mild curiosity.

"You would be more aware of the current situation than I am."

Alucius replied, "but I would guess that they overthrew him
because he understood what was happening and tried to move
Deforya to face those troubles, and the landowners were opposed
to the changes…"

"Go on," encouraged Frynkel.

Alucius shrugged. "I don't know for certain, but only a few of the
senior officers in the Lancers seemed to understand anything they
didn't want to, or anything new. They could have cultivated more
land, but instead they seemed to force people into Dereka, almost
as if they wanted to keep them poor. They refused to believe in the
pteridons until they were flaming thousands of lancers. Times are
changing in Corus. The Praetor of Lustrea was preparing to take
over the nomad grasslands, and now that Aellyan Edyss is dead
and the nomads are fragmented and blocking trade on the
southern route, he probably will resume that effort. If that is the
case, the Landarch might assess a slightly higher tariff on the
northern pass, but he would be aware that too high a tariff would
not be well received by his neighbors. The landowners would not
care. They would only see the chance to shift the tariff burden
farther away from themselves and onto someone else." Alucius
paused for another swallow of ale. "That is but a guess, and
probably a poor one at that."

Frynkel nodded slowly, then glanced to Feran. "What do you think,
Overcaptain?"

"I think Majer Alucius is being charitable. The landowners would
suck the life out of the stones in the mountains and the grass in the
plains if they could make a copper more. Their sons treat the junior
officers like ignorant rankers when the juniormost officers know
more than the senior officers."

"Majer Ebuin?" prompted Frynkel.

"I know less than either of these worthy officers…"

"You still must have an opinion."

Ebuin tilted his head, thinking for a time. "It is always easier to
blame someone else. The Matrial blamed Lanachrona. The
Dramurians blame us now. Deforya has slowly become less and
less prosperous. I would say that it was easier for the landowners
to blame the Landarch. The only way to keep him from refuting
their charges was to topple him before he could. That is but my
best guess, sir."

"You majers are most cautious. Overcaptain Feran is more direct."
Frynkel laughed softly. "Rank can make one cautious. That is not
always a virtue." He laughed again. "I learned that the hard way,
many years ago when I was an overcaptain in charge of a small
border post near Chronant…"

Alucius forced himself to listen intently.

Much later, after several more stories from the marshal and one
from Ebuin, Alucius returned to his quarters for the night. After
bolting the door, he used his belt striker to light the wall lamp over
the writing desk. He set aside the sheets of paper holding his
thoughts on organization and began a letter to Wendra.

When he finished, more than a glass later, he reread what he had
set down, eyes skimming through the words.

My dearest—

I am writing this from Borlan. As you doubtless know, little eventful
has happened, for which I am grateful. I did meet with Colonel
Weslyn in Dekhron, and he is as he always has been, most polite
and gracious in his speech. It was good to see Feran again, and
some of the men I had commanded several years back…

We leave in the morning for Krost, where we are to meet the rest
of the force I will be commanding. We have no new tidings of what
may have occurred in Hyalt or elsewhere…

I would that matters were not as they are, and that we were
together on the stead. I look forward to completing my tasks so
that I may return to you.

Then he signed and sealed it. In the morning he would see what
arrangements he could make for his letter to Wendra to be carried
to Iron Stem by one of the regular dispatch riders. Of course, it
would cost half a silver, and there wasn't that great a guarantee, but
it was worth the coin. He just recalled his regrets when he'd been
captured by the Matrite forces and had never written a single letter
home.
Chapter 31
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

The stocky man turned from the shelves of the library as the door
opened and a white-haired man in black entered. "Tarolt."

"I see you are perusing the volumes again. For references to the
scepters, I presume?"

"I thought that it would not hurt to look, as I could. I have completed
my other assignments. Or what of them that I can do at the
moment."

"The scepters might be helpful, Sensat, but they have already
accomplished what was necessary a thousand years ago." Tarolt's
voice was firm and cold.

"Are we sure that those tensions remain as necessary? Without
the locators…"

"They do, else none of the Tables would have worked all these
years. I have calibrated the new Table, and Trezun has rechecked
the measurements. It is so. We do not need the scepters."

"There are still possible lamaials—Tyren in Alustre and the
herder—and if they find the scepters…"

Tarolt silenced Sensat with a gesture. "The only one with any hint
of true Talent about whom we need worry is the herder. He is on
the way to Hyalt. Adarat has been warned that the northern officer
with the dark gray hair is the lamaial. That will fire the believers
even more, and the herder will have more than enough to handle,
because he has not been in service for years and never in such a
situation."

"But if he hears of the scepters…?"

"How would he even know about the scepters and what they are?
Also, it is most unlikely that the ancient ones can support him there
in Hyalt—or that they will try. Still, it would be good to uncover the
scepters, but not at the expense of preparing for what must be."
He looked hard at Sensat. "Just how much progress can you report
on your primary duties?"

"Adarat has the Hyalt area organized and under firm control. There
are already five companies of Cadmians in training. The believers
of the True Duarchy have been told that a northerner is being sent
against them, a lamaial who will kill them to stop the return of the
One Who Is and the peace of the Duarchy to come. They have
been assured that they are the chosen ones to restore the Duarchy
and to destroy all who would oppose them in returning hope to
Corns," offered the pale-faced and stocky man in the maroon tunic.
"Adarat has also sent weapons to Syan as well, but we have fewer
believers there."

"Whose fault is that?" asked Tarolt.

"There are few of us yet here. All this has taken some
considerable planning and effort, since there are no longer Tables
in Tempre and Hyalt… and since we have not yet been able to
reactivate the one in Soupat. It will be much easier when one more
translation is complete."

"It is always easier with more Efrans, but full translations are still
difficult and risky… and few on Efra wish to take that risk. Too few,
and they do not understand the greater dangers. Like all those in
comfort, they do not wish to understand. But… that was why you
agreed and why you were translated here," replied Tarolt. "To
assist as required to create the unrest and chaos that will make a
new Duarchy seem paradise by comparison. And to facilitate the
events necessary to rebuild the grid. Never forget that."

"Yes, fieldmaster."

"Tarolt… always Tarolt."

Sensat swallowed before replying. "Yes, Tarolt."
Chapter 32

Two and a half days had passed since the four officers and the two
horse companies had left Borlan and taken the eternastone road
south to Krost. Although it was early afternoon, a gray overcast
blocked the sun and had since midmorning. There was no wind,
leaving a sullen feel to the day, one that, to Alucius, promised little
good. Yet, what could happen now? The two companies rode
southward through low, rolling hills with prosperous steads on each
side and occasional small towns. There was almost no possibility
of encountering hostile lancers, not when the nearest forces were
those of the Regent more than three hundred vingts to the
west—as an eagle might fly—and twice that by even the high
roads.

Then, from nowhere, a crimson emptiness flared through Alucius's
wristguard. He glanced down involuntarily. Wendra? What had
happened?

But the guard remained warm and gave no other indication.

He frowned and studied the road ahead of him. He tried to use his
Talent to probe the wristguard's crystal, yet all it revealed was that
Wendra was alive and healthy—all it could reveal. He could only
take that as a sign that she and Alendra were well.

Suddenly, Alucius found himself almost shivering, yet he wasn't
really cold. He was wearing nightsilk undergarments and a riding
jacket, and it wasn't winter, but harvest. Harvest was warm in
Lanachrona, even on an overcast day, especially without any wind.

Another quarter vingt went by, and the wristguard revealed nothing
else. Then Fifth Company followed Eighth Company through a
road cut made ages earlier. Even the walls were of eternastone,
rising a good three yards above Alucius's head at the point where
the roadbed was in the center of the ridge. As Alucius neared the
southern end of the cut, he glanced over his shoulder, noting that
the ridge, unlike the other hills, seemed to stretch as far as the eye
could see, both to the northwest and to the southeast.

As the road shoulders dropped level with the road itself, another
crimson emptiness, far more overwhelming, washed over and
around him, and not from his wristguard. This was a Talent-sensed
void—the same emptiness that he had felt on the high road back
from Dereka. He turned to Feran, riding beside him. "Order ready
rifles."

Feran started, but only for a moment, before replying, "Yes, sir,"
then turned to Egyl. "Ready rifles! Pass it back."

"Ah… yes, sir. Ready rifles. Fifth Company! Ready rifles!"

Alucius then added, "If you'd order your four best marksmen up
here."

"Egyl…" Feran began.

"Waris, Makyr, Solsyt, Tonak, forward!"

"Put two of them on each shoulder, about three yards ahead of us."
Alucius had no idea what exactly was coming, but it had the feel of
a reddish purple Talent, all too much like the wild pteridons, and he
wasn't about to wait to see what it might be. If nothing showed up,
he'd pass it off as a drill. He didn't think they'd be that fortunate. He
infused the cartridges in his own rifles with darkness, then did the
same to those in the loops in his belt. He waited to say more until
the four lancers rode up.

"I'd like you four to take a position ahead of the company. Be
prepared to fire, at my direct command."

"Yes, sir."

"Two on each side," Feran added.

"Yes, sir."

As the four rode past Alucius, Feran, and Egyl, Alucius reached
out with his Talent and began to infuse the cartridges in each of
their rifles with the same kind of darkness that he had used.

The chill and unseen red-purple darkness became more and more
oppressive as the company continued southward. Alucius felt as
though an unseen avalanche was building behind the gray clouds
above, a sweep of something ready to crash down upon them.
Yet… what more could he do? Tell the marshal that they were
facing a danger he could not describe, could not identify, and
could not even explain?

All he could do was to ready his first rifle and slowly infuse the
cartridges of the lancers in the first squad with darkness. More than
that he could not do, except study the skies ahead and the terrain
beside the high road as he rode. Even so, he felt shaky after
drawing on so much darkness.

They had ridden only a few hundred yards farther when the entire
sky flashed purple—but only to Alucius's Talent, and then on both
sides of the eternastone road the sky shivered, with lines of black
lightning flashing down and then vanishing. To the east Alucius
took in ten creatures from a nightmare—or from wherever the ifrits
came. Each was more than four times the size of a draft horse,
with massive shoulders, a long triangular horn, and scales that
shimmered purple. The oversized mouths boasted crystal fangs a
yard long.

"Friggin' monsters!"

"Sow's belly!"

"… same as back then…"

Alucius glanced to the west, where another set of identical
creatures had appeared, then swung up his own rifle. "Fifth
Company! Halt! Out oblique and hold! Prepare to fire. Fire!"

"Fifth Company! Out oblique and hold! Fire at will!" echoed Feran
and Egyl.

Aiming to the east, because that grouping of Talent-creatures
seemed closer, Alucius put his first shot through the forehead of
the horned creature in the middle. As the creature collapsed with a
thud that shook the ground, then flared into a column of flame,
another lithe creature sprang from behind the monster. The
second looked vaguely like a dustcat, except that it was a
shimmering black, and far swifter—and with longer fangs and
claws.

Alucius's second shot missed the black dustcat, and the third only
struck it in the hindquarters, but it flailed forward, hissing, until a
shot from someone else turned it into a small blue-flame pyre.

The remaining horned Talent-beasts—or wild sandoxes—lowered
their heads and rumbled forward, their bulk sending vibrations
through the ground itself. Alucius fired the last shot in his first rifle
at the foremost of the sandoxes, bringing it down as bluish flames
erupted from the wound, but from behind the fallen sandox sprang
a pair of the black dustcats.

Before him, the four marksmen fired deliberately, and one of the
dust-cats exploded in the same bluish flames, but the remaining
dustcat streaked toward Tonak with incredible speed. Somehow,
the lancer managed to get off a shot at point-blank range, but so
close that for a moment he appeared enveloped in blue flame.

"Eighth Company! Forward!"

As the Southern Guards tried to ride away from the attack, three of
the horned sandoxes swept through the rear squad. Bodies flew in
all directions, each encased in blue flames.

Because he could do nothing for the Southern Guards without
firing directly into them, Alucius switched rifles and looked
westward, targeting another of the wild sandoxes, then the dustcat
that followed the fall of the massive beast. He paused for an instant
to squeeze more darkness into the cartridges of the rifle Waris
carried as the lancer reloaded, then raised his second rifle to aim
at the nearest beast. While the shot struck, and bluish flames
issued from the beast's shoulder, it swerved and stumbled toward
the last rank of Eighth Company, exploding in a gout of flame that
engulfed two Southern Guards.

Alucius fired at another of the beasts—and hit it. A blast of blue
flame washed toward the left side of Fifth Company's first squad.
While Alucius could feel the heat, the flames died short of the
lancers. He targeted two more of the cats, but it took three shots to
get the second.

"Watch the cats!" Alucius ordered, trying to infuse the cartridges of
the marksmen and of the lancers around him with blackness as he
reloaded the second rifle.

Another horned beast flared into blue flame, just at the edge of the
eternastone, but at the rear of Eighth Company.

Alucius snapped off another shot and was rewarded with another
blue explosion. Then he concentrated on three cats that streaked
toward first squad.

The last one skidded to a halt less than a yard from the western
edge of the road, flaring into a sudden blue flame. Even before
those flames died away, more of the black cat-creatures appeared,
striking the column from all angles, coming in low and slashing at
the legs of mounts and men.

Alucius forced himself to concentrate on two things—his own
shooting and supplying darkness to the cartridges of those around
him. In time—how long it was Alucius didn't know—he shot the last
cat, then lowered his rifle.

For all the chaos and the slashing attacks, there were fewer bodies
strewn on the shoulder of the highway and amid the column than
Alucius had feared—at least among Fifth Company. He looked
ahead and could see charred bodies of both Southern Guards and
their mounts, perhaps as many as two full squads along a half-vingt
stretch of eternastone.

Alucius surveyed the fields on both sides of the road. In places,
the wooden rail fences had been burned through, and in others
merely broken. There was no sign of any of the creatures, save for
large patches of burned ground and the black smoke that rose in
thin trails from the seared ground on both sides of the eternastone
road.

"Have Egyl find out our casualties and report back," Alucius told
Feran. "I'm sure the marshal will want to know—when we catch up
to them."

"Egyl?"

"He's already headed back, sir," called Elbard.

"Thank you." Feran looked at Alucius and said in a lower voice,
"This was worse than coming out of Deforya."

Alucius nodded, his face bleak. "More of the sandoxes, and I've
never seen anything quite like those cats."

"Quite like?" Feran's eyebrows lifted.

"They looked like jet-black dustcats." Alucius forced himself to
reload both rifles, overriding the trembling in his fingers. Only then
did he holster the rifles and take a long swallow from his water
bottle. He realized that he felt light-headed… and very tired. He
pushed the tiredness away.

"I'd hoped that all we'd have to deal with would be angry peasants
and religious zealots," Feran said, "not more Talent-creatures from
the time of the Duarchy."

"The marshal said they wanted to bring back the True Duarchy,"
Alucius said. "I hope these weren't what they had in mind."

Feran snorted. "People don't know when they're well-off." After a
moment, he added, "You don't really think this had anything to do
with the rebellion in Hyalt?"

"I don't know. I don't know how it could, but they've got priests of
some sort, and Aellyan Edyss found a way to call up pteridons.
Maybe these rebels could too…" Alucius shrugged, turning in the
saddle to look back northward along the road. He could see Egyl
riding toward them.

"Majer… you know I never liked it when you said things like that the
last time you had an impossible assignment."

"I know, Feran. I don't like having those thoughts, either. But why
would anyone bring Talent-creatures against us in the middle of
Lanachrona? If the Regent could summon those, I'm certain she'd
use them against our forces actually in Madrien."

"Same thing'd be true of the Deforyan Council or the Praetor,"
Feran pointed out.

Alucius did not mention the other possibility—that the ifrits were to
blame—because he couldn't prove that they even existed, let
alone that they had sent the creatures against the two companies.
Yet that possibility was as likely as the priests of the True Duarchy
having unleashed the beasts.

Egyl reined up. "Sir, Majer… we lost four men in fifth squad at the
rear, and two others in second squad. Ten men with burns, but it
looks like they'll be all right."

"Mounts?" asked Feran. "Supply wagons?"

"They didn't go after the wagons, and anytime they got one of our
men, they got the mount, too."

"Do what you can, and let me know when we're ready to ride on,"
Feran said.

"Won't be long, sir. There's… well… not much left if one of those
things got a man. Just a greasy black patch."

Alucius looked forward again, southward along the road. Eighth
Company appeared to have halted about a vingt south of Fifth
Company and was regrouping. As he watched, he could see a
rider moving away from the rear of the Southern Guard column and
northward toward Fifth Company.

"I think I'll ride forward and see the marshal," Alucius told Feran.
"Once you've got things settled, have Fifth Company rejoin Eighth."

"Yes, sir." Feran offered a ragged grin. "Better you than me
meeting with the marshal, sir."

"Thank you," Alucius replied dryly, easing the gelding forward.

As Alucius rode southward, he ate some travel bread, and that
helped with the dizziness. He also counted more than twenty
charred patches on the stones and the roadside, but, as had been
the case with the night-sheep killed by the Talent-pteridons, the
corpses had vanished or burned away.

Some of the Southern Guards glanced at him as he rode past
them toward the front of the column, but they were silent, almost as
if stunned.

"Marshal, sir," Alucius said, reining up two yards short of the senior
officer.

"Majer." Frynkel nodded, paused for a moment, before asking,
"What were your losses?"

"Six men dead, ten burned, but not badly."

"Eighth Company lost almost thirty, most in the last two squads."
The marshal's eyes fixed on Alucius. "You didn't have your men
charge those creatures. Why not?"

"We'd already found that didn't work. On the way back from
Deforya. It was in my report, sir. If they touch a lancer, he usually
bursts into flame. It's not a good idea to get too close. They're also
faster than a mount. Massed fire works better." Alucius waited.

"I thought it might be something like that." Frynkel tightened his
lips. "Have your force rejoin us. I'll debrief you tonight at the way
station at Ghetyr."

"Yes, sir." Alucius turned the gray back northward and rode on the
eastern edge of the stone pavement, past Eighth Company and
toward Fifth. He was not looking forward to discussing the attack
with the marshal. Not at all. And he still worried about Wendra, and
why there had been a flash just before the Talent-creatures had
appeared around him.
Chapter 33
North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

Wendra reined up at the top of a low rise. The hazy clouds
overhead cut off most of the heat from the afternoon sun, but since
there was no wind, she had left her herder's jacket open. To the
west, still almost fifteen vingts away, was the base of the Aerial
Plateau. The top of the Plateau was lost in hazy clouds.

Cloudy weather, especially stormy weather, often encouraged
greater sandwolf stalking of the nightsheep, but usually light clouds
did not. Still, Wendra continued to study the gradual slope below
her, and especially the wash farther to the southeast.

Most of the flock was but fifty yards downslope from where she
viewed the nightsheep. Somewhat farther to the north were three
young nightrams that sparred with each other, not for dominance,
but for practice for the time when they would fight in earnest,
unless stopped by Wendra or Royalt. After making sure that the
sparring was only that, Wendra turned and studied the slope to her
right where a handful of older ewes grazed and moved slowly
toward the main body of the flock.

From nowhere, a shivering line of reddish purple flared to her left.
She had not seen it, but sensed it and turned in the saddle,
drawing her rifle out of its holder as she did. Almost as quickly, as
she eased her mount around, she infused the cartridges in the
magazine and chamber with darkness.

Four dark forms swarmed over the ridge to the north of her,
moving swiftly on a line between the three young nightrams and
Wendra. As if sensing the purple-dark sanders, shadowed in
unseen blue and without lifethreads, the three nightrams turned and
formed a vee facing the oncoming danger.

Carefully, Wendra squeezed off her first shot, aimed at the lead
sander. Her aim was true, and she targeted the second. But the
first flared into a pillar of fire, and the force of that flare of blue
flames pushed the second sideways. Then the remaining three
turned southward and began to sprint toward Wendra.

She squeezed off a third shot and then a fourth, and the second
sander fell. With her fifth shot so did the third.

But the last Talent-sander was less than twenty yards from
Wendra, and she doubted that she could reload in time.

Desperately, she threw out a line of Talent-fire. The sander reeled
back, but remained upright. She tried a second probe, but the
sander struggled forward.

Did she need bullets for lifeforce darkness?

With the Talent-sander less than ten yards from her, Wendra
formed another Talent-probe, this one tipped with as much
darkness as she could gather, and thrust it as hard as she could at
the oncoming creature. As she did, she knew that what she tried
had to work… or she would turn into a mass of blue flames.

Less than a yard from her, the dark sander halted, as if stopped by
a wall, shuddered, and then seemed to shrivel.

Wendra urged the chestnut sideways and back away from the
slowly toppling and shrinking form that abruptly burst into flame.
Warmth cascaded across her left side, warmth that faded as she
and her mount moved away from the Talent-fire.

Wendra reined up, studying the slope. She was shivering and
breathing heavily, but there were no sandwolves and none of the
dark sanders remaining, only four trails of thin black smoke rising in
the still air from four patches of oily black residue on the sandy red
soil.

Belatedly, and silently berating herself for being so slow, Wendra
reloaded the rifle.

As she slipped the last cartridge into the magazine, another single
sharp purple feeling jabbed at her from somewhere, and was
gone.

Wendra glanced around quickly, but the hazy clouds above the
stead remained unchanged. The three younger nightrams had
eased back to the main flock, and the ewes had closed up, with the
rams forming a loose perimeter around the flock. But, so far as she
could see or Talent-sense, there were neither sanders, nor
soarers, nor sandwolves. Nor were there any more of the strange
Talent-creatures.

She continued to watch and sense, but nothing happened, and the
nightsheep began to graze once more, if cautiously. So why had
she felt the stab of purpled emptiness after she had killed the dark
sanders that had not felt like sanders?

After a moment, she eased off the glove on her left hand and
studied the black crystal of the herder's ring. She sensed nothing,
but she knew she had felt something. Or had Alucius felt
something?

The crystal was warm, and there was no sense of danger or pain,
as had been the case when he had been injured. She replaced her
glove and studied the flock.

Alucius was all right. Of that she was confident. But she still
worried, both about him and about the dark sanders—and why they
had come after her. Because they were replacing the older, more
greenish sanders? Or because she had become more adept with
Talent? Or both?
Chapter 34

Before even thinking about seeking out the marshal for debriefing,
Alucius made sure that Fifth Company was settled into the way
station at Ghetyr—two buildings within a stockade with a well and
watering troughs. The lancers' barracks consisted of little more
than a long shed with straw mattresses on plank platforms. At the
west end of the barracks were the officers' quarters—six cubicles
without doors. Each officer's cubicle had a bunk platform with a
straw mattress, a stool, and two planks attached to the wall and
supported by timbers to serve as a writing desk. The other building
was the long stable, with a roof that had seen far better days and
probably leaked.

After having groomed the gray and left his gear in one cubicle,
Alucius went to find Marshal Frynkel. The marshal was not in the
barracks building or in the stable. Alucius found both the marshal
and Captain Geragt standing in the last light of a setting sun in the
northeast corner of the stockade, well away from anyone else.
Alucius stopped a good five yards away.

"Majer, come and join us," Frynkel called.

"I didn't wish to intrude, sir."

"You aren't. We were talking about those… creatures."

"Wild sandoxes. Or Talent-infused sandoxes," Alucius said as he
joined the other two.

"You think so?"

"They're close to the ancient illustrations, except for the horns,"
Alucius said. "They're bigger, too, I think."

"You'd run across both types of creatures before?"

"No, sir. We were attacked by wild pteridons and wild sandoxes on
the return from Deforya. Until today, I'd never seen those giant
black cats."

"They look familiar… somehow," mused Frynkel.

"They look like a dustcat might, if it were larger and black, with
longer claws."

"Thank you. I knew I'd seen a drawing or something like them."
Frynkel nodded, as if relieved to recall the similarity. "Why do you
think the creatures are supported by Talent or magic or whatever?"

"Well…" Alucius paused for a moment before continuing.
"Because they have a feel that's similar, but not the same, to
soarers and sanders—and to the pteridons that Aellyan Edyss had.
And they react the same way as the pteridons did when they were
killed—exploding in those blue flames." He tilted his head. "It could
be something else. I don't know for certain, but that's what they
seem to be."

"I must admit… when I read your report several years ago… I had
some doubts about your encounter on the return from Dereka."
Frynkel laughed harshly. "I would rather have not had to confirm
personally that such creatures do exist."

Geragt offered an affirming nod.

Frynkel looked at the Southern Guard captain. "If you wouldn't mind
inquiring about whether the cooks are going to fix something, or
whether we're on field rations…?"

"Yes, sir. I'll see what I can find out." With a smile of relief, Geragt
nodded, turned, and departed.

Geragt's sense of relief confirmed for Alucius his feeling that
Frynkel had not been totally pleased with Geragt about something,
probably his handling of the Talent-creatures.

Frynkel waited until the other officer was well away before speaking
again. "Majer, as I mentioned earlier, I noticed that you and your
men were ready for those creatures. I also noted that the shots
from Eighth Company seemed to have little effect."

"Yes, sir. Part of that was because I'm a herder. We learn to listen
to our feelings. I felt something was going to happen. I couldn't
have said what. So I called a drill for a formation I'd found useful on
the Deforyan campaign. That was to bring forward the best
marksmen so that they would be in position. I'd have to say that the
reason our shots had more effect was that we use larger shells.
They don't carry as far as those used by the Southern Guard, but
we found them to be more effective against the pteridons at
Dereka."

Frynkel chuckled. "Why is it that everything you say makes perfect
sense, and that I'm certain that I'm still not getting the full story?"

"Because you're not," Alucius admitted. "I can't explain to you why I
feel what I do." That was absolutely true, but not in the way that
Alucius hoped Frynkel would take it. "I don't think any herder could
explain why we feel what we do. We've survived because of what
we can sense and feel. That's one reason why the Northern Guard
has used those off of herder steads as scouts for generations. But
it's not a skill that necessarily works well as part of a larger
organization. Can you imagine my trying to explain to you that I
have feelings that you should heed? In the middle of a battle?"

This time, the marshal laughed more loudly. "I see your point. I
also see why the Lord-Protector wanted you in charge of a force.
You need the freedom to follow those feelings, and he needs the
ability not to be directly responsible." He paused. "How did you
manage with Majer Draspyr?"

For a moment, Alucius was lost, not following the marshal's
question, before he caught the connection between it and the
majer who had led the combined expedition into Deforya years
earlier. "I acted, then explained. Majer Draspyr needed results, sir."

"I suppose that's why—" Frynkel broke off his sentence. "Never
mind that. Can you explain why those creatures appeared in the
middle of Lanachrona and attacked us?"

"Explain? No, sir. I suppose it's possible that the priests or
whoever is behind the rebels of the True Duarchy found a way to
call up these creatures and send them against their enemies. How
they would know where we are or how to send them against us I
have no idea." Alucius thought the idea was possible, but he
doubted that was the reason, or the sole reason, behind the
appearance of the Talent-creatures. Yet he also didn't see why the
ifrits would send such Talent-creatures against Alucius himself
when he was leading a force large enough to destroy the beasts.

"Neither do I, but that makes more sense than anything else. I don't
like it, and the Lord-Protector will like it even less."

Alucius could imagine that. The Lord-Protector had more than
enough problems already.

"It still doesn't tell us why this is happening now. Do you have any
thoughts on that, Majer?"

"Something's happening. It has been going on since Aellyan
Edyss and the pteridons. It could have started before that, but it's
been more obvious in the past few years. There were the
pteridons used by Edyss, and there were those that attacked us on
the Deforyan road. Herders in the Iron Valleys have reported
strange kinds of sanders on the steads. The Regent of the Matrial
came up with the crystal spear-thrower. There are probably other
things I don't know that you do. According to the histories, none of
these things has happened since the Cataclysm." Alucius
shrugged. "It means something. I just don't know what." Again,
what he said was true. He didn't know, but he had a feeling that it
was all tied to the ifrits, if he could but figure out how and why.

"You talk about feelings, Majer. What do you feel?"

Alucius thought for a moment. "It could be that the True Duarchists
are right, that the times are changing again, and that there could be
another duarchy."

"Is that what you feel?"

Alucius forced a laugh. "I feel that the times are changing. That's
what I feel. How or why… I couldn't say."

Frynkel nodded slowly. "There are limits to those herder feelings."

"Yes, sir. That's why we don't say much."

"I can see that."

"Sir," called Geragt. "The cooks are working on a stew… but it will
be more than a glass."

"Well… come on and join us. We might as well go over tomorrow's
ride."

Alucius had no illusions that the marshal had given up on trying to
see if he could use Alucius's senses as a herder to discover more
about the dangers facing Lanachrona and the Lord-Protector.
Frynkel wasn't the kind to give up.
Chapter 35
« ^ »

At Marshal Frynkel's request, on Londi midmorning, Alucius rode at
the head of the column beside the marshal. The sky had cleared
and was a brilliant silver-green. A pleasantly warm breeze wafted
out of the southwest. Asterta was well above the horizon, but barely
visible against the brightness of the sky.

Frynkel spoke softly, and he did not look at Alucius. "Several years
ago, I talked to an overcaptain of the Northern Guard before a
dinner at Arms-Commander Wyerl's home. He seemed intelligent,
hardworking, knowledgeable, and extremely skilled in the use of
weapons. He was tactful and could disagree so graciously that it
was hard to get angry with him. Then, he went to an audience with
the Lord-Protector and vanished. Now… this has been known to
happen, I hate to admit. The difference was that the Lord-Protector
was not relieved, but quietly upset. Several weeks later, the officer
returned, unshaven, unkempt, and several other matters came to
light. First, there was an explosion in the chamber of the Recorder
of Deeds, and the Recorder died. Second, the health of the Lord-
Protector's consort improved greatly, against all medical advice
and understanding, and third, the overcaptain was rewarded and
discharged as he had requested."

Alucius remained silent, wondering where Frynkel was leading.

"The Lord-Protector has expressed concern about not having the
information that the Table once provided, but he has not raged
over its absence, even though its lack has created many difficulties
for him. Now… we are seeing many manifestations of great Talent
in Corus—and the Lord-Protector agreed to the recommendation
that the Northern Guard officer be requested to return to duty…"

Recommendation? Who could have made that recommendation?
Alucius wondered, then decided to gamble. He turned in the
saddle. "Why did you recommend that?"

Frynkel smiled. "Someone else made the suggestion. I thought
myself wise enough to recognize its wisdom. Does who brought up
the idea matter?"

"It might," Alucius replied, trying to think through the situation.
Neither the Lord-Protector nor the arms-commander would need to
recommend anything to Frynkel, and who else even knew what had
happened?

"I had thought that myself, but we examined the idea closely,
Marshal Alyniat and I did, and we thought it was good enough to
bring before the arms-commander."

Alucius almost froze in the saddle as he considered the most likely
person to have made that recommendation.

"You look a bit… pensive, Majer," mused Frynkel, his tone verging
on the ironic.

Alucius focused his senses and Talent upon the marshal before he
spoke again. "Might I ask if the one who suggested this was
Waleryn, the brother of the Lord-Protector?"

"Why would he come to us?" replied Frynkel.

Because Waleryn must have wanted me away from the Iron
Valleys, Alucius wanted to say, and that meant that the Lord-
Protector's brother had been more deeply involved with the ifrits
than Alucius had realized. Instead of revealing that, Alucius merely
said, "You would know that far better than I, Marshal."

"And I had to ask myself," the marshal went on, as if he had not
asked Alucius anything, "why would the Lord-Protector so readily
accept the mere hope of services of a relatively obscure officer,
enough to send a marshal on a journey of some five hundred
vingts?"

Alucius waited, glancing at the long and straight road ahead, and at
the scouts who rode a half vingt ahead.

Frynkel turned in the saddle, fixing his deep black eyes on Alucius.

"It wasn't a hope, Marshal," Alucius answered. "If we wish to be
honest, I must point out that it would have been foolish, if not
idiotic, for me to refuse that request. You know that, and so do I."

"Ah…" Frynkel continued. "That is even more to the point. And how
does a former officer who is a herder know this?"

"Because he is a herder. Because the prices of nightsilk reveal
more than any talk by officers or officials. Prices and their future
contracts do not lie." Not for long, Alucius temporized silently.

For a moment, Frynkel was silent.

"People tend to forget that herders operate a business that relies
not only upon unique animals, but also upon equipment and
processes with very high operating costs. We have to look to the
seasons and years ahead. A herder who does not will lose his
stead."

"In that case, to what do you, as both herder and officer, ascribe
your presence here? And mine?"

"More than a few people of power wish me here," Alucius replied.
"That is most clear and does not require any great foresight."

"And why would they wish you here?" Frynkel pursued.

"The Lord-Protector and, I presume, the arms-commander wish
me here because they trust I can deal with the revolt in a way that
will not weaken Lanachrona's defenses against the Regent of the
Matrial."

"And what of others? Say, Lord Waleryn, since you did mention
him."

"He wishes me here for his own purposes, which are not those of
the Lord-Protector."

"I see you share the high opinion of Lord Waleryn held by a few
others."

Alucius did not respond, since he had not actually been asked a
question.

"What purposes might be ascribed to Lord Waleryn?"

"Anything that might enhance his stature or power."

"So he wishes you to fail, you think?"

"He may, but I would think he would prefer that I succeed, and that
he judges my success will achieve the result he desires."

"For a comparatively young officer, you are cynical, Majer. Now…
there is one other matter that has troubled me. The matter of the
Table. The Table seemed impervious to most damage, If the
records are correct, on more than one occasion over the centuries,
large blocks of stone fell on it, yet it showed no damage. Then,
seemingly for no reason at all, it exploded. And you returned to the
palace. Equally striking is the fact that the destruction of the Table
was taken so calmly by the Lord-Protector. "

Alucius shrugged. "I only met the Lord-Protector briefly, but he
struck me as a man who would not brood or rage over what he
could not control." He hoped—vainly, he suspected—that the
marshal would not continue his probing for the rest of the journey
to Tempre.

"That may be, but what role did you play in the Table's
destruction?"

"Just how could I destroy something that had lasted centuries?"
Alucius laughed. "You do me far too much honor, Marshal. I am a
herder. I do know a little about Talent. All herders do, but I know
nothing about how such a Table might work, and, in truth, I did not
even know such a thing existed before I came to Tempre."

"I had hoped you would. There were reports that you were the one
who dragged Lord Waleryn to safety when the Table exploded."

"I can tell you in all honesty," Alucius replied, "that I do not know
how a Table works, but I pledged the Lord-Protector that I would
say nothing to anyone about the task he assigned me. I can say
that he did not task me with anything involving the Table or its use."

"So he did have a task for you."

Alucius nodded.

"And you will not say more?"

"Not unless the Lord-Protector requests that I do, and I would not
do so unless he did so in person."

"You are indeed cynical, Majer." Frynkel shook his head, then
gestured to his left at the long expanse of rolling meadows, with
grass still green, despite the harvest season. "Now… do you know
why that expanse to our left is called The Folds?"

"I had not heard the name, sir."

"It's called that because in the early years of Lanachrona all the
herders gathered their herds and flocks to winter over…"

Alucius refrained from taking a deep breath. The ride to Krost was
long, and getting longer.
Chapter 36
Alucius spent at least half of each of the next four travel days riding
with the marshal, who had come up with what seemed hundreds of
ways to approach the same set of questions—just what had
Alucius been doing for the Lord-Protector and what did it have to
do with the destroyed Table?

On two of the nights, the companies had slept out on very hard
ground, in areas posted for lancers. South of Borlan the flatlands
had turned into rolling hills that were far more lush, and in the
bottomland between the hills were more meadows still green even
in early harvest. The fields were bringing forth beans, maize,
oilseeds, and the hillsides carried vingt upon vingt of almond
orchards. The wooden stead houses and outbuildings were as well
kept and numerous as Alurius recalled, and the high-road traffic
was even thicker than he remembered.

With the warmer and moister air, Alucius had gone back to drinking
more and more from his water bottles, and by late afternoon, his
uniform was damper than he would have liked from all the
perspiration.

Late on Quinti afternoon, Alucius, Feran, and Fifth Company,
following Eighth Company, were approaching Krost from the north,
nearing the post where he was supposed to add two recently
trained companies to his force. Southeast of Krost were the hills
covered in rows of staked green vines, the northernmost of the
wine-producing Vyan Hills, as Alucius recalled. Directly ahead was
the crossroads where the two high roads intersected. At the
crossroads, they would turn west to reach Krost Post.

"How good do you think these trainees are?" asked Feran.

"Not so good as they should be," replied Alucius. "Nor as good as
they will be, between the two of us." He grinned and turned in the
saddle. "And Egyl."

"Sir…" protested the senior squad leader.

Alucius gave an exaggerated shrug before turning back to look at
Feran.

"You're going to have another problem… sir," Feran ventured.

"The way you tacked on the honorific, overcaptain, says I'm going
to have a significant problem. Pray tell me." Alucius smiled.

Feran smiled back. "They're barely more than trainees. They don't
know squat about anything. They've been told for years that the
Northern Guard is a ragtag outfit of herders who had to be bailed
out by the Lord-Protector." Feran held up his left hand. "We know
it's not true, and probably whoever's been training them lately
hasn't been saying that, but I'd wager that's what they all believe."

"You're probably right. I've been thinking about that. It's going to be
hard on the trainees, but we'll set that right."

"Oh? Just like that, sir?"

"Just like that," Alucius replied. "We'll run a company-on-company
exercise, and we'll use rattan blades, and you'll let it be known to
Fifth Company the way the trainees probably feel. Or Egyl and the
squad leaders will."

Feran winced.

"And then, I'll take on whoever thinks he's the best blade in the
trainees."

"What if he's really good, a former duelist?"

"I doubt I'll have to. Someone that good won't be in with trainees. If
he is, I'll cheat," Alucius said bluntly. "He won't know it, though."

"Whatever happened to that innocent young officer who believed in
doing the right thing?"

"I still believe in doing the right thing. I hope I'm not quite so naive."
Alucius looked southward, taking in the three tall chimneys that
marked the glassworks, then, to the southeast, south of the other
high road, the odd-shaped hill that had been cut away for the sand
that fed the glassworks.

"Then, there's hope for us all." Feran laughed sardonically.

Ahead of Fifth Company, the marshal and Eighth Company had
reached the crossroads in the center of Krost and turned
westward. Fifth Company followed along the high roads that ran
amid the old buildings, several as much as four stories tall.

The marshal had clearly sent someone ahead to announce their
arrival because, once they followed Eighth Company through the
wide stone gates of Krost Post, just west of the city, a full squad
was lined up to welcome them, with a senior squad leader in the
front. Alucius, Feran, and Fifth Company had reined up barely
inside the gates of the post when three officers in blue-and-cream
uniforms hurried out into the paved courtyard and stiffened before
Marshal Frynkel.

Almost as quickly, a young-faced Southern Guard captain hurried
at not quite a run past Eighth Company and came to attention
opposite Alucius. "Captain Zenosyr, sirs. The captain-colonel
asked me to make sure you and your men are settled in."

"Captain-colonel Jesopyr?" asked Alucius.

"No, sir. He was sent to Madrien in command of three companies.
Captain-colonel Jorynst is post commander."

"I'm Majer Alucius, and this is Overcaptain Feran. He commands
Fifth Company."

"Majer, Overcaptain." Zenosyr bowed his head briefly, then smiled
and gestured. "You must have had a long ride. The front section of
the stable is set aside for your lancers. I'll just walk with you. It's not
that far."

Alucius refrained from saying that he'd been at Krost Post before,
and merely nodded.

Fifth Company followed the captain to the massive stable, which
had spaces for close to four hundred mounts. It was far more
crowded than the last time Alucius had passed through, and only
about a quarter of the stalls were vacant. The other stable
appeared almost as full. From the stable, while Feran dealt with the
squad leaders, Alucius carried his gear back across the courtyard,
following the young captain to a two-story graystone structure a
good hundred yards in length and up a set of steps to the upper
level containing the officers' quarters.

Zenosyr opened the third door. "These are a colonel's quarters,
but as a force commander with three companies, you rate them. If
there's anything you need, let me know."

"I will, Captain, but I think it's unlikely."

"The captain-colonel would request your presence at the supper
honoring the marshal in about a glass and a half."

"I'll be there."

Once the captain left, Alucius frowned, thinking. It was clear that
the captain had no real idea who Alucius was, other than another
majer. While Alucius was well aware that fame vanished quickly, he
would have thought that someone might have briefed the captain,
and he had to wonder why it had not been done.

He glanced around the 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. It could have been the same
room he'd been in before, although he thought that room had been
closer to the headquarters building.

He decided to get cleaned up. He could puzzle over the
strangeness as he did. First, he racked his weapons and hung up
his clothes and gear before heading to the washroom with the tub
and the spigot that provided ample volumes of lukewarm water.
When he had finished washing himself, he washed out dirty
uniforms and garments, then dressed and seated himself at the
antique desk.

The last times he had passed through, the post that could have
held between ten and fifteen full companies had housed only a
company or a company and a half in residence. Now, it was more
than half-full, but the honest Captain-colonel Jesopyr was gone.
Had all the officers been transferred? That might explain why no
one knew Alucius. Abruptly, he laughed. Why would anyone have
cause to know him? "You're taking yourself too seriously," he said
in a low voice to himself.

With a smile, he set to work writing out the exercises he planned to
use to test the Southern Guard companies he would be
commanding. He was still writing when there was a knock on the
door.

"Alucius?" called Feran.

"Come on in."

The older officer slipped inside the quarters. "Not bad. It's about
twice the size of my pantry." He paused. "We are supposed to add
two companies here, aren't we? Wasn't that what you told me?"

"That's what the marshal told me."

"That captain's senior squad leader wanted to know if we were
being sent west to fight the Matrites. I said that we had another
fighting assignment. He just nodded."

"Captain Zenosyr didn't seem to know who I was and why we were
here. I didn't tell him. I thought it might be more interesting to see
what happens at supper." Alucius closed the folder that held his
draft plans and orders, pushed back the armless desk chair, and
stood.

"I never did like that word," Feran replied.

"Interesting?"

"Things are always interesting around you. No offense, most
honored Majer, but too often interesting just means dangerous."

"I know. But… if the officers here don't know, that's for a reason."

"I'd say it's because the marshal didn't want it known that those
companies would be serving under a Northern Guard officer. I'd
feel better if I knew why."

"Would you?" Alucius raised his eyebrows, then laughed. "We'd at
least know what we're up against, besides a revolt. We might find
out more at supper."

"I wouldn't wager on that."

"Neither would I, but we shouldn't keep the captain-colonel and the
marshal waiting." Alucius followed Feran out of the room and
closed the door behind him.

Zenosyr was standing in the courtyard below, outside the building
that held both officers' quarters and the officers' mess. Young as
the man looked, Alucius realized that he himself was only a few
years older than the captain, if that.

The two Northern Guard officers followed the captain in through the
double oak doors and down a short hallway floored in blue-and-
white marble tiles shaped like diamonds. Although the mess itself
had space for a good twenty tables, a single long table was set up
with white linen and cutlery and with places for fifteen officers.

Perhaps ten Southern Guard officers were standing around the
marshal, talking quietly, if insistently. Only a single officer, a majer
who looked vaguely familiar to Alucius, even looked toward Alucius
and Feran, and he glanced away quickly.

"Captain-colonel Jorynst, here are our Northern Guard officers,"
said the marshal more loudly, looking toward Alucius. "Majer
Alucius and Overcaptain Feran."

"Welcome to Krost Post," offered Captain-colonel Jorynst, a
square-faced man with thin brown hair and bright green eyes.
"You'll pardon me if I don't attempt to introduce everyone at the
moment."

Alucius just nodded an affirmation, smiling politely, adding, "We're
pleased to be here."

"Now that everyone is here…" Jorynst gestured toward the head of
the table. "If you would do the honor, Marshal… Majer Alucius?"
The colonel nodded at the seat to the marshal's left while moving
to the one to the right. The other majer sat beside Jorynst, while
Feran was to Alucius's left, with the three other overcaptains next
on each side of the table, followed by the captains.

Alucius noted that Zenosyr was the most junior captain, sitting at
the last position on the left side of the table.

"In following the noble tradition set by my predecessor," Jorynst
began, standing and moving to the table against the wall behind
him, "I am pleased to offer one of the best white wines, that is, the
best that the mess can afford." With a laugh, he uncorked one and
then two of the amber-colored bottles, half-filling the marshal's
goblet. Then he handed the bottle to a steward in white, who
continued down the table filling the officers' goblets.

Once the goblets all held the near-colorless wine, the colonel
looked to the marshal.

Frynkel smiled politely and raised his goblet. "To the officers of the
Southern and Northern Guards, and to their triumphs, wherever
they maybe."

Alucius raised his goblet to the toast, then took a small sip of the
wine. It was far better than anything he had tasted in recent
years—since the last time he had been in "old" Lanachrona.

Three troopers in white jackets appeared, quickly setting plates
before each officer. On each plate was fish fileted into thin strips
and covered with a yellow glaze. As he had expected, the first
course was lemon-almond oarfish.

"Majer Alucius," said Jorynst after a time of silence, "this is Majer
Fedosyr. He's my deputy here. In addition to being most efficient
and organized, he's also quite adept with the sabre and other
weapons."

Fedosyr—Alucius now recalled that the man had been an
overcaptain when Alucius had passed through Krost before. That
was why he had seemed familiar, and from Alucius's covert
scrutiny of the other officers at the table, he thought that Fedosyr
was the only officer he had met before. "We met most briefly
several years ago, when we were both overcaptains. It's good to
see you again."

"And you, too," Fedosyr replied.

Alucius could sense a darkness about the other majer, and a
darkness that he thought might bear a hint of purpleness, but that
was so faint a feeling he wasn't certain. But he did not recall that
darkness from their previous meeting. At the same time, the
colonel showed neither darkness nor light, nor any spark of Talent.
He was a senior officer probably on his last command.

"The colonel mentioned your efficiency. From that, I take it that you
are in charge of the training going on here," Alucius ventured.

"The colonel has allowed me to do what I can—"

"Nonsense!" interjected Jorynst. "He's good at it, and he's in
charge of it all. I just approve everything. What's the use of good
officers if you don't have them do what they're good at?"

"Precisely," said Frynkel. "That is the nature of command, to use
the tools best fitted for the tasks at hand." He looked directly at
Alucius. "You, the colonel, and I will meet in the morning to discuss
such weighty matters. They can wait until then." He lifted his goblet.
"In the meantime, this wine is a tool for a good meal." He laughed
and took a swallow.

A very small swallow, Alucius noted, which was in keeping with the
effective prohibition on discussing why Alucius was at Krost Post.

After the fish came a marinated lamb, with spices that gave it an
aftertaste that was too close to prickle for Alucius to enjoy it,
especially given too-heavy lace potatoes smothered in cheese.
With the heavy food also came light conversation—or conversation
that avoided why Alucius was in Krost.

"… say that this Council in Deforya won't last long…"

"… could be… go through several before they realize…"

Alucius understood that. The Council hadn't wanted to accept
reality and had toppled the Landarch. If they accepted reality,
they'd be toppled. If they didn't, reality would force their hand, and
they'd be toppled—somewhat later. His lips quirked into an ironic
smile, but he continued to listen more than talk.

"… Denorst's cousin says that the grapes are going to be the best
in years…"

"… liked that red he had last time we were there…"

"… still think that the bays handle the cold better… coats are
thicker…"

"… hard to find a good farrier…"

In time, the marshal smiled and stood, and slipped away. Shortly
thereafter, so did Alucius and Feran. Neither spoke until they were
outside the door to Alucius's quarters and Alucius had opened the
door.

"What was all that about?" asked Feran quietly, stepping into
Alucius's quarters and closing the door. "The marshal as much as
ordered us not to talk about why we're here."

"I don't know," Alucius admitted. "But I didn't want to say why we're
here, not if the marshal and the captain-colonel didn't want to talk
about it."

"I can see that. Why didn't he?"

"Something's wrong here, and…" Alucius had almost said that he
felt Majer Fedosyr was the problem, but he didn't know that. "… I
don't think anyone wants to face it. It could be that they resent my
coming in here, that it's somehow a glove across the face."

"It wouldn't have to be," Feran said, "but it hasn't been handled
right."

"Or someone doesn't want it handled right," Alucius suggested.

"There's a lot of that," Feran pointed out.

"There always has been. We saw that in the militia, even when
Clyon was colonel. People want things the way they want them, not
the way that would be best." Alucius shook his head and laughed
softly and ironically. "That doesn't even count the problem of
knowing what is best."

"You're right about that."

"We won't get to the bottom of this tonight. I'm supposed to meet
with the marshal and the colonel in the morning. They may not have
wanted to say anything until they had a chance to meet. You're the
deputy commander of this force. I'd like you to get both Southern
Guard companies out on the maneuver field one glass after
muster. I should be there by then, but if not, just tell everyone that
those are my orders, and that I'll be there as soon as I can be."

"What about Fifth Company?"

"Tell them they can take the day off, but to get their gear in shape.
The mounts need the rest anyway. We'll bring them into this on
Septi. That's when they'll earn their pay."

"You don't make things easy."

"I'd prefer to do things more gently. It won't work. So… what I'm
suggesting will be easier than trying to talk everyone into
cooperating. I can tell that none of the officers are in the mood to
be cooperative. So… we establish that we're in charge, and then
we go after cooperation after that."

"I hope it's that simple."

So did Alucius.
Chapter 37
Hieron, Madrien

The Regent stood between the conference table and the wide
windows that displayed the southern part of Hieron as well as the
southern quarter of the Park of the Matrial. Her violet eyes followed
the east range high road southward to the point where it vanished
into the harvest haze. Then she turned to the marshal. "You say
that the second crystal spear-thrower should have reached the
forces moving south from Dimor?"

"Yes, Regent," replied Marshal Aluyn. "Unless something unusual
has occurred, they should be ready to begin the assault."

"I would not like that."

"Nor would we, Regent. But the Lord-Protector cannot bring any
more lancers into the south."

"Cannot or will not?" asked the Regent.

"If he does, he risks losing the north more quickly or even his own
south. If the revolt in Hyalt spreads to Syan, Soupat will be cut off,
and that will limit the lead available to the Lanachronans, both for
their bullets and their crystal trade."

"How are your efforts proceeding in that?"

"There are more weapons being shipped into Hyalt along the old
Coast Range trails, and the revolt there continues to grow."

The Regent nodded, then asked, "And the torques? How many
have were powered?"

"We have concentrated on repowering those of former captives
and those in and around Hieron."

"How many, Aluyn?"

"Less than a quarter. It takes time. We only have a few truly
Talented officers. The new crystal is not as strong, not yet. We
dare not send any recently trained captive lancers too far from
places where we have Talent-officers."

"The crystal grows more powerful with each day."

"The Talent-officers have noted that, but you ordered us to
concentrate on retaking the south."

"I did. That I did." The Regent nodded. "You may go. Let me know
when we have word on our progress."

The marshal bowed. "Yes, Regent."

After the conference room door closed behind the departing
marshal, the Regent turned back to the windows. She looked
southward in the golden light of the time just before sunset. Her
fingers touched, briefly, the dark green emeralds of the choker.
The gems flared deep within at her touch, and her smile hardened.
Chapter 38

Sexdi morning, immediately after breakfast and morning muster,
found Alurius in Captain-colonel Jorynst's study along with Marshal
Frynkel. The three sat around a circular conference table in one
corner of the study, a corner flanked by two man-high bookcases
filled with leather-bound volumes. As he shifted his weight in the
wooden armchair, Alucius couldn't help but notice that all the
volumes were dusty, as were the bookshelves themselves.

"The marshal was telling me that you were attacked by strange
creatures on the road south to Krost," offered the colonel. "Never
heard of such a thing." He looked directly at Alucius.

"It was a surprise to us," Alucius replied. "I've never heard of
anyone being attacked on a road like that. Not in the middle of
Lanachrona, certainly. "

"It happened to you and not to anyone else," said the colonel. "You
were not terribly successful in protecting the Eighth Company,
successful as you may have been with your own lancers.
Command is not about protecting just one part of a force; it
requires one to handle all the companies as one."

"That is true, Colonel," Alucius replied as politely as he could,
despite the growing rage seething within him. What business did
Jorynst have in chastising him? "At that time, I was only in
command of Fifth Company, and I did not receive any orders from
Marshal Frynkel."

"Shouldn't need orders for that. Your job was to protect the
marshal."

Alucius debated for a moment, deciding whether to point out that
he was not and had never been under the colonel's command. He
decided against doing so and said calmly, "That was what we did.
We stayed and fought the beasts. We killed them all, and that way
none of them reached the marshal."

"You didn't do that much for the fourth and fifth squads of Eighth
Company, now, did you?"

Alucius could not figure out why the colonel was attacking
him—and why the marshal was allowing it—except that it was clear
Frynkel had always had his own agenda. Alucius tried again,
keeping his voice level. "We did the best we could, sir, and we did
keep the other Eighth Company squads from taking casualties."

"That still left some thirty dead and wounded—almost a third of
Eighth Company."

From what Alucius could sense, the colonel was angry, but Alucius
couldn't figure out why. Jorynst hadn't been there. Eighth Company
did not belong to Krost Post, but was stationed out of Tempre,
according to the marshal. So Alucius just waited, without saying
more.

"Your pardon, Marshal," offered Jorynst, nodding to Frynkel and
turning back to Alucius, "but many strange things have happened
around you, Majer, and you have an extremely high rate of
casualties. I will do as ordered and place the Twenty-eighth and
Thirty-fifth Companies under your command, but I cannot say that I
am pleased. I am not pleased at all, and I cannot understand why
this step is necessary. But I am a faithful officer and will do as
directed."

Deciding that the abuse had gone far enough, Alucius forced a
polite smile. "Then, Colonel, we feel exactly the same way. The
last Southern Guard officer under whom I served managed to lose
almost his entire company to the last man, and I was forced to
watch as tactics I thought were unsuitable were employed. I
managed to defeat an enemy that outnumbered our forces by
close to ten to one. It is true that we suffered casualties in the
range of thirty to forty percent, but that was far better than Majer
Draspyr's ninety-eight percent. I am here at the request of the
Lord-Protector. I did not ask to be here, and I did not ask to be
sent to put down an internal domestic revolt in Lanachrona, a revolt
with which the Iron Valleys have no connection. Because I, too, am
a good and faithful officer, as always, I will do my very best. In the
past, it's been far better than the Southern Guard has managed."

Jorynst's eyes almost bulged out, and he opened his mouth, then
closed it. Finally, he spoke. "You… that is… insubordination…"

"Yes, sir," Alucius replied. "If telling the facts as they are
constitutes insubordination, then I am insubordinate."

"I cannot believe that you—" began Jorynst.

"Colonel…" Marshal Frynkel said, firmly. "Majer Alucius is a
Northern Guard officer. His record is impeccable. He is the only
man in the history of Corus to receive the highest decorations from
Deforya, Lanachrona, and the Iron Valleys simultaneously. He is
also the only officer ever to engineer an escape from Madrien and,
with less than a company of half-trained recruits, defeat between
four and six experienced companies. He prefers the truth in a less
varnished fashion and speaks more directly than the subordinates
to whom you are accustomed. You may note that he replied most
courteously and politely in his manner of speech time after time,
when you were the one who was abusive. You took offense to what
he said, and to the substance of what he said, I fear there is no
rebuttal." Frynkel smiled coldly and turned to Alucius. "What are
your training plans, Majer?"

"Do they need any more training?" asked Jorynst. "The Twenty-
eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies have been preparing since we
received word from the arms-commander."

Alucius couldn't believe that the colonel was still objecting. Was he
that stubborn? Or was he just trying to set up Alucius? "We'll need
at least several days to work with them and to assess—"

"They're good lancers—" said Jorynst.

"I'm certain that they are," the marshal interjected, "but the majer
needs to work with them to make sure that the command structure
works and to know how they do what they do, and they need to
know how the Northern Guards do what they do."

"I suppose that's true…" The colonel's words were grudging.

"Colonel," Frynkel said almost amiably, "Majer Alucius understands
his task. We should let him get on with it. There are a few matters
that we need to discuss." Frynkel looked at Alucius. "If you
wouldn't mind, Majer." After the briefest pause, he extended a
folder. "Here are the rosters and squad assignments for your new
companies. Your command begins as of now."

"Yes, sir." Alucius didn't mention that Feran had probably already
established that command. He stood. "By your leave, Marshal?" He
did not look at Jorynst.

"You have my leave, Majer."

Alucius left, closing the door behind him. He paused, but heard
nothing, then stepped past the ranker seated at the desk in the
anteroom. He wished he knew exactly what game the marshal was
playing, but by the end of the meeting it had been clear to Alucius
that the marshal had used Alucius against the colonel and had
been quietly pleased. Alucius didn't like being used that way, but
there was little he could do until he knew more.

He made his way to the armory, where he arranged for three
hundred rattan blades to be ready on the following morning. Then
he hurried to the stable, where the gray was waiting, already
saddled. He took several moments to study the rosters, and then
slipped them inside his tunic before leading the gelding out and
mounting.

The post seemed quiet as he rode out past the sentries, who
barely acknowledged his departure. Feran and the two Southern
Guard captains were waiting for him at the edge of the flat dusty
maneuver field to the west of the wall of Krost Post.

"Overcaptain, captains… I apologize, but the marshal had a few
matters to discuss." Alucius offered a smile he did not feel. "I'm
Majer Alucius, and I see that you've met your deputy commander,
Overcaptain Feran."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius studied the two captains. One was dark-haired and painfully
young. The other was at least ten years older, with a rugged face,
shortcut blond hair, and a thin red scar across his forehead.
Alucius looked at the older captain. "You're Jultyr?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you in one of the companies that patrolled the Coast Range
against the Matrial?"

"Yes, sir."

Alucius could detect the faintest puzzlement in the captain's
response, but continued, "Did you ever wonder why the Matrites
never sent out patrols of less than what seemed to be a half
squad?"

"I hadn't thought about it, sir."

"We'll talk about that sometime, Captain." Alucius offered a smile
as he projected a hint of warmth and trustworthiness at Jultyr. Then
he turned to the second captain. "Captain Deotyr?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long have you been in service?"

"Just a year, sir."

"Good," Alucius said ambiguously. "I understand you two have
been working your companies hard. I also suspect that neither of
you is thrilled to be assigned to a command where you know little
or nothing about your commanding officer. Has anyone briefed you
on our mission?"

There was a flicker of eye contact between the two captains.
Jultyr's jaw tightened, and he said nothing.

After a silence, Deotyr spoke. "We heard that we might have to do
something about the revolt in Hyalt."

"That's correct. Contrary to what may have been passed around,"
Alucius said easily, "I'm not interested in putting down a revolt by
killing large numbers of people. That's a very last resort. Dead
people don't produce goods. They don't pay tariffs, and their
friends and relatives have even more reasons to revolt and try to
kill lancers. That said, I won't hesitate to use force, if necessary,
but I'd prefer other tactics first."

"Other tactics, sir?" blurted Deotyr.

"We'll discuss those later. We'll have plenty of time on the ride to
Hyalt. This morning, we're going to go through some exercises to
see just how your lancers operate and how good they are at what.
This afternoon, we'll be adding some squad and company
maneuvers and formations that are not used widely in the Southern
Guard but that will have some application in Hyalt. Then, tomorrow,
we'll begin some squad-on-squad drills against Fifth Company.
Fifth Company is a very experienced outfit, and we can't afford any
serious casualties. So… for any contact drills, I've arranged for
rattan wands. You'll pick those up from the armory tomorrow after
muster."

"Rattan?" blurted Deotyr.

"Captain," Alucius replied patiently. "We have to integrate tactics,
techniques, and maneuvers. While basic mounted commands are
similar from force to force, they are not identical, and tactics vary
widely. There's a great possibility for miscommunication to begin
with, and miscommunication with edged weapons is not desirable.
Neither is conducting evaluation exercises and blade training
without using weapons." Yes, sir.

"For this morning's maneuvers, I'll go with Captain Deotyr and
Twenty-eighth Company." Alucius looked at Deotyr directly. "I'll
give you the commands I want you to order. That will let me see
how your company operates. Overcaptain Feran will do the same
with Captain Jultyr and Thirty-fifth Company. Now… if you'd return
to your companies and brief your squad leaders."

Alucius remained on the gray beside Feran, using his Talent to
boost his listening as the two captains rode back to their ranked
companies.

"Rattan…" murmured Deotyr. "Don't believe it…"

So far as Alucius could tell, Jultyr said nothing. After a moment,
Alucius looked to Feran.

"Jultyr has an idea of what's coming," Feran said. "The other
one…" He shook his head.

"I know," Alucius said. "I know."

Once he was sure that Deotyr had had time to brief his squad
leaders, he rode toward Twenty-eighth Company.

The rest of the day was a blur, with exercise after exercise, and
only a two-glass break between morning and afternoon sessions.
By the time Alucius released the two companies—only slightly past
midafternoon, because he had not wanted to put too much strain
on the mounts—both trainee companies had learned, in general
terms, the additional oblique maneuvers that Alucius had brought
back from his captivity in Madrien and adapted for Northern Guard
use, as well as a few others that had been used only by the Fifth
and Twenty-first Companies of the Northern Guard.

At some point, Alucius wanted to send off a letter to Wendra. That
was all he could do to reassure her that he was thinking about her
and Alendra, but he had a great deal of planning to do. Also, he
was well aware that anything he wrote and dispatched from Krost
Post would have to be short and say little beyond expressing his
affection.

As he rode back to the stable, dust-covered, tired, and hoarse, he
couldn't help but wonder what the marshal and the colonel had
discussed and how it would all play out.
Chapter 39

Septi morning was cloudy but dry, and as he reined up the gray on
the maneuver field, waiting for Captain Deotyr and Captain Jultyr,
Alucius could almost feel the resentment from a least some of the
lancers in the two Southern Guard companies as they formed
up—carrying the rattan wands. He had not talked with Marshal
Frynkel, as had decided that it would be better for the marshal to
seek him out than to seek out Frynkel immediately. Alucius's
orders did not mention a specific time when he was to leave for
Hyalt, and he did not want to leave until he and Fifth Company had
had more time working with the two Southern Guard companies.

Within moments, Feran had brought his mount up beside Alucius.
"Fifth Company is ready, sir."

"Thank you. Do all your squad leaders know what's necessary?"
Alucius asked quietly.

"All I had to tell them was that the Southern Guard was most
unimpressed with the Northern Guard." Feran's voice was dry. "I
did add that the Southern Guards didn't seem to understand that
you were trying to protect them, and that it might be wise to
reinforce that point. Show the southern boys that they needed that
protection."

Alucius nodded slowly. "Good. I wish it were some other way, but
Colonel Jorynst's attitude has made this more difficult than it had to
be."

"You mean that he can't believe that we're fit to command good
southern men? Sir?" Feran snorted.

"Something like that."

"How do you want to handle today?" asked the overcaptain.

"Might as well start with squad-on-squad. One set of squads at a
time, so the others can watch. Alternate. Your first squad against
first squad of Twenty-eighth, second squad against second squad
of Thirty-fifth until we go through five drills. Then, we'll take a break.
Say a half glass, but we'll see. Then, we'll reverse the order… Your
first squad against the first squad of Thirty-fifth… That will mean
your men have to work twice as hard."

"They can handle that."

Alucius remained on the gray, watching and waiting as Deotyr and
Jultyr formed up their companies, then rode forward.

"Twenty-eighth Company, present and accounted for, sir."

"Thirty-fifth Company, present and accounted for, sir."

"Fifth Company, present and accounted for, sir," added Feran.

Alucius accepted the reports with a nod, then said, "Good morning,
Overcaptain, captains."

"Good morning, sir."

"We'll be doing squad-on-squad drills this morning…" As Alucius
explained, he studied the three officers. "… and once we've had a
run-through of the first five skirmishes, the men will get a break,
while I debrief you on each squad's performance. Then, you'll get
some time to work out things with each squad and squad leader,
and a break for rations and water. Then, we'll go through another
set of squad-on-squad skirmishes…" As he finished the outline of
the day's training exercises, it seemed to Alucius that Jultyr's
attitude combined understanding with resignation. Deotyr seemed
resentful and bewildered. Feran managed to conceal an ironic
amusement.

After he dismissed the captains to make ready, Alucius rode
farther toward the center of the maneuver area so that he could
watch more closely.

"First squad, Fifth Company, ready, sir!" called Feran.

"First squad, Twenty-eighth Company, ready, sir!"

"Commence exercise!" Alucius ordered.

He watched intently as the first squad from Fifth Company
wheeled, then rode toward the first squad of Twenty-eighth
Company. Within moments, most of the recent trainees were either
rocked back in their saddles, had lost their rattan wands, or had
suffered blows that would have been crippling had they faced
lancers with real sabres. Alucius had anticipated that some
additional training would be necessary, but he had not expected
such a poor showing.

He let the skirmish go on for a time, long enough that it was clear to
most that those raw lancers in Twenty-eighth Company would have
been slaughtered.

Then he rode toward the swirling melee, raising his voice and
projecting command, "Break it off! Now!"

"Re-form! First squad break and re-form!" came the command
from Faisyn.

"Re-form!" echoed the squad leader from Twenty-eighth
Company.

Alucius watched, but it appeared as though all of first squad still
held their wands.

After the dust settled, and the two first squads had cleared the
center area, Alucius called out. "Second squads! To the center of
the field… Commence exercise!"

Once more, the results of the quick skirmish were overwhelmingly
in favor of Fifth Company's second squad, but the lancers of
Thirty-fifth Company's second squad generally managed to hang
on to their weapons, and a few even parried or landed blows of
their own.

Alucius tried not to frown as the morning wore on, but the pattern
set in the first two skirmishes held consistent for the last three.
Twenty-eighth Company was hopelessly overmatched, while
Thirty-fifth resembled trained raw lancers.

As the last of the morning drills broke off and the two fifth squads
reformed, Alucius caught sight of a Southern Guard officer riding
away from the maneuver field. He wasn't certain, but he thought the
man was Fedosyr, and he wondered exactly why the other had
been watching the drills.

Alucius made a mental note to himself about Majer Fedosyr as he
rode toward Twenty-eighth Company, loosely formed up in the
northwest corner of the field.

He began his debrief with Captain Deotyr and the first squad
leader. "Captain, squad leader… the first thing that I noticed was
that too many lancers in your squad were leaning back in their
saddles . .." After going over the general observations, he moved
on to specific points.

Then he repeated the process with Captain Jultyr.

After that Alucius called a break. The companies dismounted, tying
their horses to the railings on the east and west sides of the
maneuver field.

Alucius turned his own gray to the northeast, where he reined up at
the very north end of the railing. There he dismounted and took a
long swallow from one of his water bottles. Shortly, Feran joined
him.

"What do you think?" Alucius asked the older officer.

"Thirty-fifth Company will be all right. Jultyr's solid. Not outstanding,
but solid. Twenty-eighth Company…" Feran shook his head.

"They've made it harder for us," Alucius suggested. "Normally, you
just rotate replacements into an existing company. Except for the
squad leaders and captains, they've formed two complete
companies out of trainees. So we get to train them, and when it's
all over they either get two trained and experienced companies, or
they haven't lost an existing company."

"Why do we always get deals like this, sir?"

"Because a lot of the Southern Guard doesn't like the Northern
Guard. We cost them a lot of lancers and officers over the years,
and they haven't forgotten—or forgiven."

"Have we?" asked Feran with a laugh.

"We haven't forgotten, but I hope we've enough sense to put it
behind us." Alucius fished out some hard travel bread and chewed
on it, wondering just how many more difficulties that he hadn't
anticipated would raise their heads.

After the midday break, the afternoon skirmishes went in much the
same way as the morning, except that Twenty-eighth Company's
results were even worse, with two lancers breaking their sword
arms. On the other hand, Thirty-fifth Company's three squads did a
slightly better job against Fifth Company and also managed to hold
discipline and a semblance of ranks.

Alucius went through another long series of debriefs with the
captains and their squad leaders, and it was well past midafternoon
when he finished those and ordered the companies to form up.

"How do you think they'll react to today?" Feran asked.

"You probably know better than I do," Alucius replied. "What do
you think?"

"My guess is that the trainees—I guess they're lancers now…
they'll start to accept the fact that they have something to learn.
The captains, I don't know. Deotyr will do what you want, but he
won't give much leadership. Jultyr… he can probably lead, but I
can't tell whether he'll make it hard or not."

"It's your job, for now, to find out and see what it will take with
Jultyr," Alucius said.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"And one other thing…" Alucius smiled tiredly. "Once everyone is
formed up, I'm going to announce a complete gear inspection in
one glass. That includes Fifth Company."

Feran smiled in return. "Fifth Company should be set. I held one
yesterday."

"The others may be set, but…"

"You don't think so."

"I'd like to think so," Alucius said.

He waited for a bit longer, before ordering, "Captains, forward!"

The three officers rode from before their companies, reining up in
a line three yards short of Alucius.

"Captains, Overcaptain."

"Yes, sir."

"You and your men have a glass and a half to get set for a
complete mount and gear inspection outside the barracks. Uniform
will be standard field dress. Gear will be full deployment
equipment. That includes all officers and men in all three
companies."

"Yes, sir."

"That will be all."

After the three turned their mounts, Alucius listened as they rode
back to their companies.

"… think he is…" muttered Deotyr.

"… he's in command, Deotyr… better realize that…" answered
Jultyr. "He's got a nasty job to do, and we're the ones…"

A nasty job indeed, Alucius reflected, as he turned the gray back to
the stable, but nasty jobs seemed to be his legacy.
Chapter 40

On Octdi morning, a day with hazy clouds rather than the heavy
overcast of the previous day, Alucius had just led out the gray from
the stable, but had not mounted. He and Feran stood by their
mounts.

"You still intend to work with Twenty-eighth Company?" Feran
asked.

"For now. You seem to be working things out with Jultyr."

"He's seen enough to realize what you are. He also asked. I told
him you'd entered service really young and been a militia scout, a
Matrite captive, and then a squad leader, and all the militia history."
Feran smiled. "I think he was more impressed that you were a
squad leader for the Matrial and escaped."

"If that's what he likes, that's fine."

"If I might ask…" Feran began…"about the inspections?"

"The same as the drills. Sloppy gear in Twenty-eighth, what you'd
expect of decent raw lancers in Thirty-fifth." Alucius could sense
someone coming, and he turned to see Marshal Frynkel walking
alone across the paved courtyard of the post toward them. Alucius
waited, hiding a smile as Feran eased away.

"Majer?"

Alucius looked at the marshal. "Sir?"

"I have been talking with Majer Fedosyr. He is rather distraught
about your exercises of yesterday. Most distraught, I would say."

"Sir?"

"He feels that it was highly unfair to place lancers just out of training
against a battle-tested company of veterans."

"I would agree with the majer, sir," Alucius replied. "That was
exactly why I did it. Battle isn't a question of fairness. It's a question
of who's more skillful and who's better trained and better led. The
sooner these new lancers understand that they're no match for
experienced lancers, the sooner they'll be ready to listen and to
learn."

"I had told the majer that I thought that was your rationale." A faint
smile crossed the marshal's face. "He feels that you may have an
image of all Southern Guards as being less… able."

While Alucius harbored some suspicions along those lines, he
wasn't about to voice them. "I don't believe I've ever said or even
hinted that, sir."

"Nonetheless, the majer is quite concerned."

"I appreciate his concerns, but I need to have these lancers ready
to accept more rigorous training and understand why it's
necessary."

"In fact, the majer would like to uphold the ability of the Southern
Guard in a demonstration match against you."

"Is that necessary?" Alucius asked cautiously. Although he'd
mentioned to Feran the possibility of such a match against the best
blade in the two companies, he'd decided against it as
unnecessary when the skirmish exercises had turned out the way
that they had.

"The majer believes it is necessary, and since he does, and since
it is likely that many follow his views, I fear I must concur."

"Yes, sir. When does the majer suggest that this take place?"

"Within the glass. Here in the courtyard. He does not wish to
disrupt your training schedule unduly, but he feels that for you to
proceed under a misapprehension would not be wise."

"I can understand misapprehensions, sir."

"Majer Fedosyr is considered one of the best blades in the
Southern Guard, and he would like to demonstrate that the
Southern Guard is indeed expert with weapons. He would like to
have all the lancers in the post watching."

"If you feel it necessary, I would be more than happy to engage in
such a demonstration with Majer Fedosyr," Alucius replied. "Our
exercises have been using rattan blades…"

"I believe that Majer Fedosyr might find that… less than
satisfactory." Frynkel frowned. "Yet I would find it disturbing if you
were unable to carry out the Lord-Protector's wishes."

Alucius ignored the presumption implied by the marshal. "Perhaps
you could suggest to Majer Fedosyr that we begin with rattan, and
that if he finds rattan unsatisfactory, we could resume with our own
sabres."

"He might be amenable to that. In half a glass?"

"Yes, sir."

After the marshal turned and walked back toward the headquarters
building, Alucius walked the gray back inside the stable and stalled
the big gelding. Feran followed, also with his own mount. Alucius
did not unsaddle his mount, but left the stall carrying the rattan
wand. He stopped in the open space beyond the stall as Feran
approached.

"Fedosyr's looking for an excuse to kill or disable you," Feran said
in a low voice. "Humiliate you at least."

"Whatever makes you think that of the most honorable majer?"

"My high opinion of him, I guess," Feran replied, deadpan.

"I thought it might be something like that."

"What will you do?"

"Begin by acting in the most honorable way and assume that he
won't. Then only appear to act honorably while doing what's
necessary."

"You're using a lot of words."

"How about: Wait he until he tries something dirty, then do it worse
before he can?"

"I like that better," Feran said.

"I'm also going to my quarters for a few moments. I'll be back
shortly. I need to get a few things."

"Good idea."

Alucius walked quickly from the stable to his quarters, where he
stripped off his tunic and donned the padded nightsilk vest that had
stood him in such good stead in the past. He'd end up sweating
profusely by the time everything was over, but that was a price he
was more than willing to pay, especially given his distrust of
Fedosyr. Then he made his way back to the stable.

Feran was not there, but returned shortly. "You're wearing the vest,
aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Might be a good idea to wear it all the time around these sand-
snakes."

Alucius laughed.

"I told Jultyr and Deotyr to have their men form up in a square in
the courtyard to watch the demonstration suggested by the
marshal. Also told Fifth Company."

"Was there any reaction?"

Feran's lips quirked. "Egyl suggested that the marshal must not
care much for Majer Fedosyr. Either that, or he didn't understand
herders."

"It could be both. We'll see."

"The other companies are already forming up—Eighth Company
and the two others stationed here."

The last thing Alucius wanted was a sabre match in front of five
hundred lancers, but upon reflection, he couldn't say that he was
surprised. He spent the next quarter glass doing some stretching
and bending exercises. Then, he picked up his rattan wand and
walked out toward the open square area formed by the gathered
lancers. There were indeed at least five companies arrayed in the
post courtyard.

Alucius stopped at the southern edge of the open space, in front
of Fifth Company. He still wore his sabre in the belt scabbard. The
murmurs of low voices filled the area with a low, whispering rumble.

Majer Fedosyr was already out in the courtyard, standing beside
the marshal. As soon as Frynkel caught sight of Alucius, he said a
few words to Fedosyr. Then the marshall stepped into the center
of the area flanked with lancers. The murmurs died away.

"We're very fortunate to have two exceptional officers here at Krost
Post. Many of you know Majer Fedosyr, who is renowned for his
skill with a blade and for his long and devoted career in the
Southern Guard. Majer Alucius of the Northern Guard is also
renowned and highly decorated. They will be demonstrating skill
with weapons." The marshal nodded and stepped back.

With the rattan wand in hand, Alucius moved forward into the open
space, smiling, but listening to the murmurs from the ranked
lancers.

"Except for that gray hair… looks younger n' a fresh captain…"

"… think he's all that good?"

"… no one's as good as Majer Fedosyr…"

"… say that this majer decorated for bravery everywhere…"

"… doesn't make him a good blade…"

Alucius agreed with that, but bravery didn't make a man a poor
blade, either.

After a moment, Fedosyr stepped away from where he had stood
beside the marshal on the northern side of the rough square.

Alucius studied the majer closely. Fedosyr was a big man, a
fraction of a span taller than Alucius and well muscled, but not fat,
and he carried himself with a certain litheness. Fedosyr was not
ifrit-possessed, but Alucius was sure now that he could detect the
faintest hint of purpleness to the man's lifethread—much as he had
felt with Colonel Weslyn. Yet the colonel and the majer had never
met. Of that, Alucius was most certain.

Alucius stopped a good yard short of Fedosyr and bowed slightly.
"Majer."

"I applaud your caution in suggesting rattan, Majer, if not your
confidence," said Fedosyr.

"I am most cautious, Majer," Alucius replied politely.

"That is obvious." Fedosyr raised his wand.

Alucius matched the gesture, reading with eyes and Talent the next
move. He began the parry almost as Fedosyr eased to one side
and swept in from Alucius's right.

For the first moments, Alucius reacted and observed. To him, it
was obvious that he was faster than Fedosyr and able to anticipate.

Fedosyr seemed to stumble, going down slightly into not quite a
crouch. Alucius sensed the feint and gave the faintest hint of trying
to test Fedosyr's less protected side. Fedosyr came out of the
crouch in a focused attack, but Alucius had anticipated the attack
and struck.

In an instant, Fedosyr's wand lay on the ground.

"You couldn't do that with real weapons," the Southern Guard
officer said.

"Actually, it would be easier with a real sabre," Alucius replied. As
soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take
them back, realizing that Fedosyr was so hotheaded that he would
take them as a challenge.

"Then we should try real sabres." Even before he finished the
words, Fedosyr's hand went to the sabre at his side. He kicked the
rattan wand away, and a lancer ran up and took it away.

Alucius stepped back, then half threw, half slid the rattan wand
across the pavement stones of the courtyard in the general
direction of Feran. His own sabre was in his left hand before the
wand scraped across the stones to stop short of Feran's feet.

Fedosyr's sabre glinted in weak morning light, polished and clearly
sharpened to a razor edge. A duelist's edge, Alucius noted, as
brought his own blade into a careful guard.

The Southern Guard majer attacked, furiously but deliberately,
keeping himself well balanced.

Alucius circled away, easily parrying or slipping the other's blade,
not giving any openings.

"You see… not so easy with real blades," Fedosyr murmured.

It wasn't, not when Alucius didn't really want to injure or kill the other
man. He continued to parry and defend, his own sabre weaving a
defense that Fedosyr could not penetrate.

As the moments passed, Fedosyr's attacks grew sharper. Then for
a moment, the taller man eased back, far enough back that Alucius
did not press. Fedosyr blotted his forehead with the back of his
sleeve, then his hand dropped to his belt, as if to wipe the sweat
away. Except Alucius could sense that Fedosyr had something in
his hand.

The Southern Guard officer held his free hand out more to the
side, as if to balance himself, then rushed Alucius.

Alucius could sense the colorless powder that flew toward his face
and eyes almost from the moment that Fedosyr released it.
Instead of parrying or blocking the other's thrust, Alucius darted
sideways—but only for an instant. Even so, Alucius could feel the
burning on the side of his neck where some of the colorless
powder had grazed him.

Fedosyr hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether his powder
had done its work, and in that instant, Alucius attacked—for the first
time. At the last instant, Alucius turned the blade. Even so, there
was a dull crack of bones breaking as the flat of the sabre
slammed across Fedosyr's wrist.

The polished sabre clanked on the stones.

"I apologize, Majer," Alucius said quietly, "but I don't like duelist's
tricks."

Fedosyr's face had drained of color. He just looked at Alucius
blankly for a moment. Then his left hand darted toward his belt.

Alucius took two steps forward before Fedosyr managed to fire
one shot from the small pistol. The shell slammed into the left side
of Alucius's chest, not quite at the shoulder, staggering him, but he
managed to hang on to the sabre just long enough for his right
hand to grab it and use it to slash back across Fedosyr's neck.

Fedosyr didn't even look surprised as his lifeless body slumped to
the ground.

Alucius forced himself to bend down and wipe his blade on
Fedosyr's tunic. He straightened and sheathed the sabre. Then he
walked slowly toward the marshal.

"… shit… how could the majer miss?"

"… didn't miss… see how Majer Alucius staggered…"

"… took the shot and then killed Fedosyr… with his other hand…"

"Must have been a duelist…"

"… never seen someone do that…"

Alucius stopped short of the marshal. Frynkel's face was
impassive.

"Sir, I regret the last, but I could not afford to allow Majer Fedosyr
the opportunity for another shot. By your leave, I would like to get
on with the training."

"You have my leave, Majer. I will ensure that Majer Fedosyr's kin
know that he died in overextending himself during a training
exercise, one in which he disobeyed Guard policies."

"As you see fit, sir." Alucius had to struggle to keep the anger out
of his voice and wasn't sure he had.

Frynkel waited, then said, "You may go, Majer."

"Yes, sir." Alucius stepped back and turned.

Feran met him on the far side of the open space. "I'd forgotten
how good you are with both hands."

"It helps at times."

"How badly—" The overcaptain's eyes flicked toward Alucius's
shoulder.

"I'll be bruised on the left side of my chest," Alucius said in a low
voice, "and probably from elbow to shoulder. Better that none of
them know that."

"It'll be a long day."

"It's already been too long. Have all three companies mount and
form up here." Alucius turned and walked toward the stable. The
lancers parted, leaving a wide aisle. Only when he was past them
did the whispers begin.

"… made Fedosyr look like a recruit…"

"… see why they wanted him…"

"… wiped his blade on his tunic…"

"… looked like he wanted to kill the marshal, too…"

After he reached the stable, Alucius checked his chest. The vest
and the nightsilk undergarments had done their work. Nothing was
broken, but the bruises were already beginning.

After blotting his sweating forehead, taking a long swallow of water
from one of his bottles, and readjusting his uniform, Alucius waited
a quarter of a glass before he led the gray from the stable out into
the courtyard. He mounted and rode to the front of the formation.
There he looked at Feran, Captain Deotyr, and Captain Jultyr. He
waited for a moment before he raised his voice for all of them to
hear. "We'll head out to the maneuver field. Once we're there, we'll
break down into two-on-two drills, trainees against Fifth Company.
And you will use rattan. You'll have enough bruises to prove that it's
no toy. Tomorrow, we'll go back to working on the squad level…"

As he finished his instructions, Alucius couldn't help but wonder if
there weren't an easier way to convince people than with some
form of force. He also hoped he could keep moving without
betraying the pain and stiffness that was spreading from the impact
of Fedosyr's bullet.
Chapter 41

Stiff and sore after finishing the last training exercises on Octdi,
Alucius walked into the headquarters building. The marshal had
sent a lancer with a message requesting Alucius's presence when
his training duties were finished for the day. Alucius anticipated
nothing good from the meeting.

Alucius looked at the ranker behind the desk. "The marshal
requested my presence."

The lancer bolted to his feet. "Yes, sir. He's in the colonel's study,
sir. He's expecting you, sir."

"Thank you." Alucius doubted that he'd ever gotten three "sirs"
from a Southern Guard before. It was truly amazing what the
application of skill and force could achieve when common sense
and courtesy could not prevail. He opened the door and stepped
into the study, expecting both the marshal and the colonel, but
Frynkel was alone.

"Please close the door and have a seat, Majer."

Alucius sat down cautiously.

From behind the colonel's desk, Frynkel looked at Alucius.
"Captain-colonel Omaryk had said that you were not only an officer,
but a warrior-leader."

It took Alucius a moment to recall that Omaryk had been one of
those who had debriefed him in Tempre years before. "Warrior-
leader, sir?"

Frynkel laughed wryly. "That's why you've led so much from the
front."

"I've had trouble leading any other way, sir."

"Just remember this, Majer. All the great war leaders led from the
front. Most of them died. There were less than a handful that didn't
die in battle, and they founded empires and saved lands."

There wasn't much Alucius could say to that or wanted to. So he
remained silent.

"I've spent most of the day cleaning up the mess that Majer
Fedosyr created. Or rather, explaining that he had overreached
himself. I found the pouch of acid-dust. He had more in his
quarters. How did you manage to escape that?"

"I saw him reach for something. It seemed likely that it would be
thrown at either my face or my feet."

"You saw that while you were fighting?"

"Yes, sir."

"You see more than you tell."

"Everyone does, sir."

Frynkel shook his head.

"I haven't seen the colonel," Alucius ventured, trying to shift the
subject and probe as well.

"I doubt that you will, since he has left Krost Post for his family
home in Syan. I asked for and accepted his resignation. He had
enough service for a stipend."

"So I was a tool for that?"

"Let us say that you helped. It was most useful to be able to point
out that Jorynst did not recognize your past contributions. It was
even more useful to be able to cite his failure to understand
casualty figures. That allowed me to note that a once-distinguished
officer had apparently suffered a loss of mental faculties by
denying verified and published figures and events." Frynkel's smile
was both wry and cold. "I did make sure that several lancers made
copies for the files and for dispatches."

Alucius understood that. Those lancers would spread the word.
There was no way to stop that, and Frynkel certainly hadn't wanted
it stopped. "And Majer Fedosyr? Was that part of the plan?"

"Majer Fedosyr has always had an excessive opinion of himself, as
well as well-placed friends in Tempre. They have always been
rather forceful supporters. I hadn't realized that he had a hidden
pistol or that he was foolish enough to use it. If he had killed you,
he would have been court-martialed and executed. That would
have solved that problem, but I certainly wouldn't have wanted to
pay that price to get rid of him." Frynkel looked at Alucius. "You
didn't have to kill him. He would have been court-martialed. Why
did you?"

"I wasn't certain of that, sir, and my grandsire always told me that a
man who gave a sander or a sandsnake a second chance was a
fool and deserved what he got. Majer Fedosyr was a sandsnake,
and I felt that it was likely that he'd have gotten away with what he
did if I hadn't acted then and there."

"You may be right, but we'll never know."

Alucius wasn't about to point out that there had been too much risk
in letting Fedosyr live.

"You made a point with all those lancers. You also set a personal
standard that could be hard to live up to."

"I can't say that I'd thought about that, sir. I did what I thought was
right."

"The Lord-Protector told me that you always did. He also said that
such officers were to be used sparingly. The right is too powerful a
weapon for frequent use." Frynkel looked directly at Alucius for a
long moment. "I'm leaving tomorrow for Tempre. Overcaptain
Nybor is temporarily in charge of Krost Post, with orders to support
you fully. Even without my orders, I doubt you would have
difficulty." Frynkel paused. "Your orders allow you some latitude in
when you leave. When you do, you are to proceed directly to Hyalt
and not to go to Tempre."

"I had thought so."

"You also have complete discretion in Hyalt, and that means that
you will be fully accountable."

Alucius understood that message as well. Hyalt was another
opportunity for total personal disaster.

"When do you intend to leave?" asked the marshal.

"Londi. I'd thought we'd take a measured pace, with mounted drills
every morning and individual weapons practice and drills every
evening. The individual practice won't tire the mounts, and if I can
instill good habits in tired men, they'll hold."

"You and Overcaptain Feran make a good team."

"He's very solid and very practical, sir."

"That seems to be a trait of the north. Along with ruthless idealism
implemented pragmatically."

"For all the procedural niceties, sir, I did not ask for this
assignment."

"I know. It is recorded as my suggestion to the Lord-Protector. If
you're successful, we both will profit."

Alucius didn't see how having to follow Colonel Weslyn would be
any great profit to him or to his family—or the stead. He could see
all too easily the disasters that would follow if he succeeded to
command of the Northern Guard—let alone those that awaited him
if he failed earlier.

"I've been away from Tempre too long," Frynkel continued.
"Marshal Wyerl has requested my return so that he can leave to
take personal command of the Lord-Protector's forces defending
Southgate and the trade highways."

Alucius nodded.

"I wish you well, Majer, for both of our sakes, and trust I will see
you in Tempre before too long, reporting your success in dealing
with the rebels."

While Alucius understood that the marshal wanted to end the
meeting, there were too many unanswered questions. "Sir… there
are a few matters…"

"Yes?"

"Supplies. The post at Hyalt has been taken. It's unlikely that we
can count on local support for rations or feed, at least not much
past the south of Tempre. I'd like to request some supply
wagons…"

"In Lanachrona?"

"Especially in Lanachrona, sir. I would doubt that the Lord-
Protector would wish us to forage off his own people…"

Frynkel took a deep breath. "We can make arrangements. What
else?"

"More information. There are maps, but the only reports we have
are a season old. What kind of weapons and mounts do they
have? How many are there? Where did they come from?"

Frynkel shook his head. "You have all the information I have. That's
all the information anyone in Lanachrona has. We sent in scouts.
Not a one returned. Since the first traders and crafters fled, no one
else has appeared coming north or east out of Hyalt."

"No one?" No one.

"You expect me, with three companies, to deal with something like
this?"

"I never told you it would be easy, Majer. The Lord-Protector is
stretched thin everywhere."

Just how thin Alucius had not realized. He took a slow breath.

All in all, he spent another half glass with the marshal before finally
saying, "Thank you, sir. We'll do all that we can and appreciate your
support." He paused, then asked, "By your leave, sir?"

"You have my leave and best wishes."

Alucius rose, trying to make the movement fluid, when he felt
anything but graceful. Frynkel said nothing more as Alucius left the
study.

He walked back across the courtyard to his quarters, thinking.
Frynkel had used him to solve a problem at Krost Post, exactly as
the Lord-Protector was planning to do in Hyalt. That underscored
his own problem. He had more planning to consider so that he was
not merely reacting when he reached Hyalt, and that meant some
intensive study of the maps of the area around Hyalt. The lack of
information bothered him, because it strongly suggested the ifrits
might be involved. But how could he tell?

He smiled, faintly, ironically. There was one simple aspect to the
day's events. Now that Fedosyr and Jorynst were gone from Krost,
Alucius could finish his letter to Wendra and send it off. Again, he
pushed aside his worries about her and Alendra. He doubted he'd
be sending many dispatches from Hyalt, and for a glass or two of
the evening ahead, he didn't want to think deeply about what lay
ahead, even if he would have to in the glasses and days before
him.
Chapter 42
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

"Even in harvest, it is chill here," observed Sensat, closing the
shutters against the twilight. He moved to the iron stove set against
the outside wall of the study, where he opened the stove door and
thrust in a generous shovelful of coal before setting the shovel
against the hearth wall and propping it against the base of the
scuttle.

"Acorus is a cold world," replied Tarolt. "You knew that."

"Knowing it in one's mind and feeling the chill seeping into your
bones on all but the warmest of summer days are two different
matters."

Sensat pulled one of the chairs closer to the stove and seated
himself.

"It's not just the chill. It's everything." He gestured at the shelves
and the books set upon them. "This, this is one of the largest
collections of what passes for knowledge in all of Corus. The
paintings, they are as child's drawings. The sculpture is crude, raw,
unfinished. The buildings are low and squat. Save for the handful
of towers surviving from the Duarchy, nothing soars. Nothing
challenges the eye or the spirit."

"If you miss Efra so much, you could chance a return."

"And risk becoming a wild translation? One world-translation in a
lifetime is quite enough." Sensat took a deep breath. "Can I not
miss the soaring spires of Deconar? Or the high domes of
Peshmenat? Can I not regret not having listened more intently to
the lilting compositions of Ghefari?"

"You can. I miss them as well," Tarolt replied. "But there will be no
spires in the future, no music for the ages, no domes that span the
skies… not if we do not complete and strengthen the grid. Not if
we do not prevent the ancient ones and their tools from again
acting against us."

"Always the ancient ones…"

"Once-powerful pastoralists, who would try to pass their lack of
ambition on to dull steers." Tarolt shook his head. "Steers who
have no concept of art, of architecture, of beauty. They would
leave their world a dull mudball drying in the eternity of time,
accomplishing nothing, striving for nothing, becoming nothing."

Sensat stood and walked to the stove, opening the door and
adding more coal. "You're right. I'm still cold, though."

"Dull steers worthy only of providing the lifeforce for achievement
and glory," Tarolt said quietly. "Remember that."
Chapter 43

Under the soft light of the wall lamp in his quarters, Alucius leaned
back in the old wooden chair, ignoring the creaking as his weight
shifted, and blotted his forehead. The night was as warm as some
summer days on the stead, and he doubted that he'd ever get
used to the heat of the south. Places like Hyalt and Soupat—or
Southgate—were even warmer. He glanced over at the nightsilk
skull mask that lay folded on the corner of the desk. Wearing it in
the current weather, even at night, would leave him a mass of
sweat. Still… it might prove useful at some point.

After taking a swallow from the water bottle he had set on the
corner of the desk, he eased back forward, studying the map, his
eyes following the narrow roads to the west of Hyalt. The map
didn't show how high the hills were, or how steeply they might climb
into the eastern side of the Coast Range, but from the way the
roads curved on the map, it was clear to Alucius that the terrain was
anything but level. After a time, he took the calipers and began to
measure the distances, writing them down on a sheet of brown
paper.

He had to hope that the maps he had been studying were indeed
correct, or mostly so. He'd learned over the years that few were
totally accurate, but if the roads he had measured and studied went
roughly where the map said they did, then he could at least attempt
the strategy he had in mind. Then, too, he told himself, once he got
to Hyalt, he might have to rethink everything.

Would there be more of the strange Talent-creatures in Hyalt? Or
was it too far south for them? Or did it matter? While the soarers
did not appear in the south, he had the feeling that the creatures
associated with the ifrits would not be limited by heat.

No one seemed to know much about the revolt in Hyalt, except that
the followers of the True Duarchy had appeared with weapons
early on an end-day morning and slaughtered an unprepared and
badly outnumbered garrison. Alucius had decided that a thorough
reconnaissance was the first step, including staying well away from
the town of Hyalt in the beginning. The more information he could
gather before acting, the better.

His lips quirked into a half smile. He already had a reputation for
being almost impulsive and ruthless, and he wasn't sure that he
was truly either. Ruthless? The ifrits had been ruthless.

He paused. Did every effective officer rationalize his actions that
way? Did the ifrits?

After a long silence, he returned to studying the map and making
notes.

When he was finished with the maps for the night, he'd write some
more on the letter to Wendra. It was always more pleasant to end
the day—or night—thinking of her.
Chapter 44

Alucius studied the small hall in which he found himself, a vacant
space ten yards long and half that in width. The walls were of pink
marble with a tinge of purple, and at intervals of five yards half
pillars were set within the marble—or against the stone. Alucius
could not tell which. The stone pillars were of goldenstone, not
gilded, but golden throughout. Overhead, slightly more than five
yards above him, curved a ceiling of the same pink marble. All of
the stone was so precisely fitted that his Talent could detect no
sign of joints or of mortar. The floor was of octagonal sections of
polished gold and green marble, each section of green marble
inset with an eight-pointed star of golden marble, with the narrow
arms of the star outlined in a thin line of brilliant—and
unfamiliar—metal.

The walls seemed to have shifted, and Alucius glanced around.
There was no one but him in the chamber, and there were no wall
hangings. He realized that he had not seen a doorway, and he
turned to look behind him. There was no entrance there, either.

How had he gotten into the chamber? He did not see a Table
anywhere.

Again, there was the sense that the walls had shifted, and Alucius
tried to figure out what had happened. He studied the chamber. It
was smaller—now only eight yards in length and four wide.

He took two steps forward and looked back. Nothing had changed,
and there were still no doors anywhere.

The walls shifted once more, and now the chamber was but five by
two and a half yards, and the ceiling was less than four yards
above him.

He reached out and touched the marble of the wall, cold, but not
freezing. As he withdrew his hand, the walls shifted once more,
then again almost immediately, so that he was standing in a
chamber smaller than a cell, surrounded by hard stone less than a
yard away.

He tried to reach out with his Talent, to find a way out, but he could
sense nothing but stone, hard stone.

The walls shifted again, so that he had to turn sideways. Sweat
poured down his forehead. He had to get out… somehow. He had
to—

Alucius bolted upright in the wide bed in the senior officers'
quarters. The sudden movement sent twinges through his aching
body. Sweat was indeed streaming from his face and chest. He
swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood slowly. He
walked to the window, looking out into the darkness, but he still felt
closed in. So he turned and made his way to the door. He opened
it wide and stepped out into the darkness, breathing the cool air
deeply.

After several moments, he finally turned and stepped back into the
quarters, closing the door gently. He walked slowly back to the
bed, where he lowered himself to sit on the edge, all too aware that
many of his bruises had a ways to go before they stopped aching.
As he sat on the edge of the bed, he used the back of his hand to
blot the cooling sweat from his forehead.

He'd never had a dream quite like that, with the walls closing in on
him, but he had to admit that in some ways, that had been how he'd
felt in having to agree to the Lord-Protector's "request."

After a time, he stood and walked around the room, still trying to
cool off, still wondering what else lay behind the walled-in feeling.
Chapter 45

The three companies left Krost Post promptly after breakfast on
Londi morning, even before the post's muster. By then, most of
Alucius's bruises had turned vivid shades of yellow and purple, and
while the worst of the aching had subsided, he was still stiff. He
hadn't had another wall dream, for which he was thankful, and he'd
written out a simple command structure and selected his three
lancer messengers. He'd studied the maps of the Hyalt area and
made some initial plans. He'd also sent off another letter to
Wendra, and he could only hope that all was going well on the
stead. His wristguard showed that she was healthy, and that was
good. After his meeting with the marshal, he'd also managed to
obtain not only the supplies, but also a large amount of blasting
powder—and the wagons and teams to carry them.

Because he also had decided to spend part of each day riding with
each of the company commanders, he was riding at the head of
Twenty-eighth Company with Deotyr, at the front of the column on
the high road that ran all the way to the coast in Madrien. They
would turn southward in something less than a week, onto the high
road to Hyalt, days before they could have reached the Coast
Range, let alone Madrien.

The midharvest sky was hazy, without actual clouds, and windless,
making the morning seem warmer and dustier than it was. Still, one
advantage of the eternastone roads was that there was far less
dust raised, and that meant the company bringing up the rear didn't
have to breathe nearly so much dust and grit as on the back roads.

"Captain…" Alucius began, once they were settled into an easy
riding rhythm, "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you and
Captain Jultyr. I was wondering. Where are you from?"

"Cersonna, sir."

"I'm not that familiar with many of the places in Lanachrona beyond
Tempre, Krost, and those along the River Vedra. Where is
Cersonna?"

"It's on the high road to Indyor, just east of where the road crosses
the Vyana," replied the young dark-haired captain. "There's not
much there, except for cattle and grasslands."

"How did you come to join the Southern Guard, then?"

"When you come from a cattle-running family, and you're the
youngest of five, your choices aren't what they might be
elsewhere."

Alucius nodded. "You can't split lands and a herd that many ways."

"The lands mostly. We're not as dry as places like Soupat or Hyalt,
from what they say. A square will only graze so many head. That's
over time, but if you overgraze one year, unless you're lucky to get
a monsoon winter, you'll have to sell off part of the herd the next, or
they'll all lose weight, maybe starve." Deotyr paused. "You're a
herder, though. Isn't it the same for nightsheep?"

"They graze quarasote, not grass, but it's like that in a way. If they
don't get the better quarasote, their wool isn't as strong, and that
cuts its value, but it doesn't cut the processing costs. They
probably won't starve, but the herder running them might." After a
moment, he asked, "What's the biggest danger to your cattle? On
the steads, we're always on the lookout for sandwolves and
sanders, but I've heard that there aren't many south of the Vedra."

"No, sir. The snakes get a few, but grassdogs are the problem.
They run in packs, and they can take down a straggler in
moments…"

Alucius listened, letting Deotyr enlighten him on the details of
cattle-running in eastern Lanachrona.

In time, the junior officer looked at Alucius. "Sir… they say that
you've been in battles all over Corus and wounded many times…"

"And you want to know if it's true—or how much is true?" Alucius
smiled. "I started out as a scout in the Iron Valley Militia…" He tried
to summarize the campaigns and the wounds quickly. "… I guess
that makes something like three times where I wasn't expected to
live and three other times where I had minor wounds. I've been in
fights in every land west of the Spine of Corus except Ongelya."
Alucius didn't include the fourth severe injury, where the soarer had
nursed him back to health, or his times in Lustrea, fighting the ifrit
engineer.

Deotyr was silent, so silent that the loudest sound was that of
hoofs on the eternastone road.

Alucius decided not to push. He had almost two weeks of riding
before they reached Hyalt.

After a time, the young captain cleared his throat. "Sir… what can
we expect in Hyalt?"

"Trouble," Alucius said with an ironic laugh. "The kind that always
happens when people think they're so right that they can't believe
that anyone else could be right or be better at what they do." He
waited a moment before he added. "Like Majer Fedosyr."

"Majer Fedosyr? Sir…"

"That seems so unlike a revolt? It's an example. The Northern
Guard fought Lanachrona to a standstill twice. That's history. The
Iron Valleys agreed to union with Lanachrona not because they
were defeated in battle, but because they had no golds left to pay
the militia or to purchase supplies. Because Lanachrona took over
the Iron Valleys, the majer wanted to believe that the Northern
Guard was somehow deficient in its training and arms skills. He
could not force himself to acknowledge that it was otherwise.
Because he could not, he broke every rule for a demonstration
match. He even threw acid-dust at my face. People who can't
judge their beliefs against what happens in the world around them,
who cannot see what is… they're much like Majer Fedosyr. The
True Duarchists believe that a duarchy that has not ruled in
thousands of years will provide a better life for them than the Lord-
Protector. Yet the Lord-Protector is one of the more enlightened
and intelligent rulers in Corus. One only has to ride through other
lands to see this. But the True Duarchists have yet to see this, and
it is most unlikely that they will."

"I thought folk in the Iron Valleys don't care much for the Lord-
Protector."

"Most probably don't, but they haven't seen the alternatives. There
are problems in Lanachrona. There are problems everywhere, but
there seem to be far fewer here than in other lands. That's one
reason why we'll need to be very cautious in approaching Hyalt."

"Because you don't think there should have been a revolt?"

"From the few reports we have, it isn't really a revolt. It's more like
a local invasion by the True Duarchists. Most of the local people
had to flee, but no one else has since then. That suggests either a
number of armed rebels or local support—or both. The duarchists
had rifles and blades and the training to use them. They struck at a
time designed to take the local garrison by surprise. That doesn't
sound like discontented subjects so much as someone trying to
make it seem like a revolt."

"Who would… the Regent of the Matrial, you think?"

"That's the most likely possibility, but we won't know until we can
scout out the situation." Alucius didn't want to mention the missing
scouts. Not yet.

"How do you… what do you plan?"

"To do what they don't expect, where they do not expect it, and in
ways that they don't."

"That sounds… difficult, sir."

"It will be. It's better than the other approaches. They're
impossible."

"Can you give us some idea… ?"

"We won't be riding in on the high road, not for the last twenty
vingts or so. We're also going to try to create doubt about the
abilities of the duarchists. All kinds of doubt. If we do, that will
make our job much easier." Alucius smiled politely. "I'll be going
over the details with all of the officers together as we get closer to
Hyalt, and some of the training exercises we'll be doing along the
way are designed to work with the tactics we'll be using."

Deotyr nodded slowly, as if at least some of what Alucius said
were new to him and needed further consideration.

That was what Alucius wanted. He shifted his weight in the saddle,
a saddle that would get harder than he liked before they arrived
near Hyalt, and reached for his water bottle. Early in the day as it
still was, it was hotter than he would have liked. Then again,
everywhere south of Dekhron was warmer than he preferred.
Chapter 46

On Tridi midafternoon, Alucius was riding at the head of Thirty-fifth
Company with Captain Jultyr. The fields on both sides of the road,
beyond the wooden rail fences, held growers and their hands and
families, all of whom were involved in harvesting a range of
crops—from maize to some sort of beans, and a type of oilseed.
They were busy enough that only a handful of youngsters even
bothered to look at the passing lancers.

"You've seen quite a bit in your time with the Guard," Alucius said.
"You came up through the ranks."

"Yes, sir." Jultyr did not quite look at Alucius, as seemed to be the
case on most of the occasions when Alucius had ridden with the
older captain.

"How long did you serve with the forces against the Matrites?"

"About four years, sir."

"What did you think of their abilities?"

There was a pause before Jultyr spoke. "Some were good. A
company here or there was real good. Most weren't as good as we
were."

"You have any thoughts on why that might be?" Alucius found
himself waiting and forcing himself to be patient while Jultyr
considered his answer.

"Couldn't say for sure, sir, but they seemed to do better on the
squad level. Thought they had better squad leaders than officers.
Some of their auxiliary companies were good, too." Jultyr looked to
Alucius. "You think that might be so?"

"They don't have any officers who are men. So the highest a good
man can go is senior squad leader. Some of those I knew were
very good. Their officers… a handful were good, but the best ones
were more likely to get killed. Their strategy was generally better
than either that of the Northern or Southern Guard, but their tactics
and battlefield leadership weren't so good."

"You think we have better officers and better tactics… they have
better squad leaders and strategy?" questioned Jultyr.

"Overall… probably. Both have officers who are good, and both
have officers not so good, though. We know that's true in any
fighting force."

Jultyr nodded.

"According to your record," Alucius said, "the Guard promoted you
from senior squad leader to captain directly. That's not done often,
I know."

"It happens, sir."

"I know." Alucius laughed. "I didn't expect it when it happened
to me."

"Suppose I had hoped," Jultyr said after a silence. "Never think it
will happen to you. Doesn't happen often in the Southern Guard."

"It doesn't happen that often in the Northern Guard, either.
overcaptain Feran and I are about the only two officers who are still
serving that I know who came up that way."

"The overcaptain said you'd faced down the deputy commander of
the Northern Guard for your men. Stood alone in front of a whole
company."

Alucius wondered where Feran had learned that, since it was
something Alucius had never mentioned to anyone outside his
family. "Just did what I thought was right."

Jultyr nodded. Another silence followed.

Alucius glanced back at the four supply wagons that followed the
lancers, thinking about his conversation with Marshal Frynkel about
the wagons. He wondered if he shouldn't have pressed for even
more supplies.

"You think that these duarchists have any connection with the
Regent, sir?"

"I don't know," Alucius replied, "but I'm sure that the Matrites will
take advantage of them any way possible. At the very least, I'd
guess their weapons are coming through Madrien. I don't see
where else they could come from."

"Could be more lancers or troopers in Hyalt than you've heard,"
suggested Jultyr.

"That's why we won't be heading all the way to Hyalt. We'll take
some of the back roads and circle around the town. We need to
see what we can find out before we decide on a final strategy."

"Sir… how soon in that match before you knew you were a better
blade than Majer Fedosyr?"

"I had some doubts about his ability," Alucius said slowly, "when I
heard that he was opposed to using rattan wands."

"He never meant it as a practice match."

"No."

"You knew that?"

"Not for certain until I saw his sabre. Then it was pretty clear. He
had it polished and the edge ground to razor sharpness. That's a
duelist's blade, not a working lancer's blade. Then, I had my
doubts he'd ever really been a working lancer." Alucius forced a
laugh. "I haven't spent as much time in the field as you and Feran
have, but I know that, and that's why I try to listen to experienced
officers and squad leaders. But all the years I have spent in
service have been in the field. I'm sure you notice which senior
officers understand and which don't."

For the first time, Jultyr laughed, softly and briefly. "Yes, sir."

Alucius continued to ask gentle questions, continually reminding
himself to allow the captain time to reply and not to hurry him, trying
also not to say too much about his own past.
Chapter 47
Tempre, Lanachrona

In the indirect light of late afternoon, the three marshals sat in
straight-backed chairs upholstered in deep blue and trimmed in
gold. Facing them across the severe dark oak table desk was the
Lord-Protector. The polished desktop was bare.

"Why don't we know what is happening in Hyalt?" The Lord-
Protector's eyes traveled from marshal to marshal, from Frynkel to
Wyerl to Alyniat, before snapping back to the arms-commander.

"We have no recent information, sir," admitted Wyerl.

"No one has left Hyalt since the last of the traders and their families
fled almost a season ago," added the blond Marshal Alyniat. "Not
that we've been able to find, under the circumstances."

"And you have sent no scouts?"

"We sent several," Wyerl said slowly. "None of them returned.
While we would have preferred to provide Majer Alucius with more
information, it seemed imprudent to keep sending men to their
deaths for nothing. We have few enough good scouts remaining
as it is."

"You expect me to believe that no one has left Hyalt? In a
season?"

"They have blocked the roads, sir, and fortified those points. We
told you that when we discovered that had occurred. You told us
not to send lancers to tear down the barricades, but to leave that to
Majer Alucius." Wyerl glanced toward Frynkel.

"Majer Alucius has yet to reach Hyalt," offered the balding marshal.
"He is within a day or two of the city, I would judge." Both eyes
blinked rapidly for a moment, and Frynkel pressed the side of his
palm against the right one.

"We guess… we judge." The Lord-Protector snorted. "We
assume, but we do not know. How can we prevail when we know
so little? We have no Table. Your scouts cannot tell us what is
happening in our own land, and they cannot reach us with what is
happening in Madrien until it is too late to do anything."

"That is true, sir," Wyerl replied. "Very true."

"I am supposed to rule without information? You are supposed to
decide where our lancers should be when we do not know where
our enemies may be or how many of them may be where?"

"We know where the Regent's forces are," Alyniat pointed out,
"and how many she brings to bear in each area."

The Lord-Protector ignored the statement and turned to Wyerl.
"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow, unless you wish it otherwise, sir."

"All I wish is your success—and that of Majer Alucius—so that we
may return Lanachrona to a land of not only prosperity, but peace."

"Majer Alucius is most likely to be outnumbered, sir," Frynkel said
quietly. "He could be badly overmatched."

"Thankfully, that has not been a problem for him in the past, and we
must hope that it will not be one now," Wyerl commented. "He has
a very different style."

"I do not see it as different," replied the Lord-Protector. "He fights
only when he must, and then he does his best to destroy all of the
enemy so that he does not have to fight them again. Had we been
able to do that in Madrien, we would not now be fretting about
where and when the Regent will strike."

None of the three marshals responded, but waited for the Lord-
Protector to speak again.

After the silence had dragged out, he stood. "If you would continue
to keep me informed… You may go."

"Yes, sir." The three marshals rose as one.

After they had left him alone in the study, the Lord-Protector turned
and walked to the window gazing to the northwest at the twin green
towers, a legacy of the Duarchy.

"Have rulers always had to act knowing so little?" he mused half
aloud into the empty room.

There was no answer.
Chapter 48

For another week—ten long days—Alucius and the three
companies rode, almost due west for the first five days. The next
five days, they rode south on the eternastone road that ran from
Tempre in the north to Hyalt in the south. The night after heading
south, Alucius had once more dreamed about the chamber with the
walls closing in, and again he woke up sweating. Clearly he felt
hemmed in, but there was little enough he could do besides being
aware and doing his best.

On Quattri, just as the sun had almost reached its zenith, Alucius
realized what had been nagging at him for the past few glasses.
They had seen no one heading north the entire morning. Not a
soul. While the road was supposedly less traveled than many
others, it was part of the trading "square" of high roads that linked
the five major cities in western Lanachrona.

On either side of the high road was a vingt or so of low scrub
brush, little of it over knee-high. Each bush or plant was surrounded
by an empty area of reddish sand. To the east, the brush gradually
gave way to rolling grasslands, but the harvest tan grass was
sparse, and in places the brownish red soil showed through. To the
west were hills that rose no more than fifty to a hundred yards
above the high road. A patchwork of reddish sand, brush, and
junipers covered the slopes.

The last Southern Guard way station had been two days earlier,
manned by but a half squad, and Alucius had his scouts out not
only on the eternastone road ahead but also on the few side roads.
Another set of scouts paralleled the main road, riding through the
scrub brush roughly half a vingt to each side. Not a single scout
had seen anyone since they had broken camp that morning.

"This is a trading road, isn't it?" Alucius asked Feran, riding beside
him.

"They say it is."

"We haven't seen any traders or anyone at all. There were more
people on the road from Salaan to Dereka."

"You're saying that there's trouble ahead." Feran laughed. "We
knew that already."

"It's not just trouble, but the kind of trouble. Everywhere else where
I've been around fighting, people move. Some flock in to make a
quick coin, and some flee. Marshal Frynkel couldn't provide any
information about this revolt. No one has found out anything since
the first traders fled, and that was more than a season ago. Just
how likely is that?"

"Likely or not, honored Majer, that's the way it is."

"Exactly. But it means we need to know more before we go
charging into Hyalt." Alucius looked at the road ahead and the
lancer scout who was headed back toward Alucius at close to a
gallop.

Alucius turned to his left, looking at Dhaget, one of his three
courier/ messengers. "Send back word for all the companies to
halt and have Captain Deotyr and Captain Jultyr join me."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius turned back toward Feran. "Have Fifth Company halt and
take a break."

"Fifth Company! Column halt!"

"Company halt!" Egyl echoed Feran's command.

Both officers waited until Waris reined up short of them.

"Sir… there's a barricade ahead. It's a pile of stones and logs on
both sides of the road, and a log set on a post so it can block the
road. Troopers, or something like 'em, in maroon tunics."

"Did they see you?" asked Alucius.

"Don't think so, sir."

"How far ahead?"

"Three vingts, give or take a few hundred yards."

"How many troopers were there?"

"Looked to be a half squad or so. They had some merchant's
wagon. Didn't see the merchant, though. Also had maybe ten
mounts saddled and ready to go."

Alucius frowned. "Call in the other scouts. Station them on the road
a vingt to the south to stand watch for now. Then report back here."

"Yes, sir."

While Alucius waited for the other two officers to join them, he took
out the map from the top of his left saddlebag and unfolded it,
studying it and checking distances, looking up and comparing what
the map showed to what he saw, as he had done periodically for
the last several days.

" Sir? " offered Jultyr, riding up and halting on the edge of the road
beyond Feran.

"There's a roadblock ahead. When Deotyr gets here, we'll go over
the next steps."

"Yes, sir." Jultyr nodded.

Within moments, Deotyr reined up beside the other captain.

Alucius lowered the map. "The scouts have reported a fortified
roadblock about three vingts ahead, with half a squad of mounted
armsmen. There's no way to tell yet if they're actually trained
lancers. We could take this barricade, possibly without many
casualties. But we'd still be more than twenty vingts from Hyalt, and
they'd know that we were here. I'd rather they didn't know until
we've learned more, and until we can make an attack with the
advantage of surprise.

"We're going to head back north for about five vingts. We passed
a road, more like a trail, back there. It runs south between the hills
just west of us and another line of higher hills farther west. We'll
only take it far enough to find a good bivouac. Then, we'll start
scouting in earnest. I'll tell you now, but you also need to make
sure that the scouts know it. The Southern Guard lost a number of
scouts here. So, at first, I don't want your men trying to get too
close. I'd rather have sketchy information than none."

Deotyr glanced to Jultyr, then back to Alucius.

"You have a question, Captain Deotyr?"

"Not exactly, sir. Ah… it's just… wouldn't they know the back
roads?"

"I'm certain that some of them do. But they're expecting any
lancers to come straight down the road. The way the roadblock is
set up, it's not a defense against a company of lancers. If there are
any defenses, those defenses are farther south. The barricade is
set up so that even if we did manage to capture everyone there, it
would be obvious from a distance that it had been overrun. I'd
rather not announce our presence over a roadblock and ten or
twenty men."

"Ah, yes, sir."

"If you're right, Captain," Alucius went on, "and you well may be, we
could run into larger forces on the back roads. Now… we know that
they're somewhere and armed. Right now, do they know we're
here?"

"No, sir, probably not, sir."

"Not yet, I hope," Alucius replied. "So, if we run into another force
on the back roads, who has the advantage of surprise?"

Deotyr nodded, if grudgingly.

"If our scouts are good, we might even be able to set up an
ambush for them." And if he and the companies were lucky,
Alucius added to himself. "Twenty-eighth Company will take the
lead on the way back to the side road, and I'll be riding with you.
Overcaptain Feran and Fifth Company will ride rearguard, just in
case we have been spotted. Once we find a defensible bivouac,
we'll send out scouts, possibly for several days."

Alucius's eyes went from officer to officer, ending with Deotyr. "Is
that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then let's get moving." Alucius gestured to Waris, who had reined
up a good five yards away. "Is there any sign of the rebels?"

"No, sir. Everyone's where you ordered."

"Have half of them hang back and watch the rear, and you and
Elbard move up with us. We're going north, then west. After you tell
the other two, you two join up with me, and I'll brief you on what we
need."

"Yes, sir." Waris eased his mount away.

At least, the scouts weren't second-guessing him. Alucius kept a
smile on his face as he turned the gray and rode back along the
road with Captain Deotyr.
Chapter 49
Alustre, Lustrea

The slightly stocky, dark-haired traveler, flanked by two Praetorian
guards, bowed to the man who sat in the unadorned silver chair on
the dais. "Honored Praetor Tyren."

"You provided most interesting materials, stranger."

"Waleryn, Praetor. Lord Waleryn of Lanachrona."

"Why are you here?"

"Because my brother fears me, and a ruler who fears his brother is
not one that it is wise to remain close beside."

"And I should trust a man who would betray his brother? If indeed
you are that man."

"I am not here to betray my brother. I am here because my brother
does not trust me, and I would work with a ruler who can use what I
know. That is far different from offering to betray a brother. That I
do not offer. I offer the knowledge—"

"And if I were to torture you for that? "

"Sure as the week has ten days, you would lose what else I have to
offer—freely." Waleryn laughed. "Almost freely."

"Almost?"

"I ask for good quarters and a modest stipend. Very modest. Less
than the engineer received."

"What engineer?"

"The one who provided you and your sire with the light-knives. The
light-knives whose secrets I also know."

"Why should I do this?"

"Because it is in your interest, Praetor, and because you lose
nothing by seeing if I am who and what I claim."

"Can you prove what you say?"

"I can offer you more proof than you can believe." Waleryn smiled.
"The engineer's spaces have not been touched. There is a Table-
like mirror hidden within those spaces. I can find the mirror and call
up a scene in that mirror." He paused. "Will that suffice?"

"We shall see." The young Praetor nodded to the guards. "Take
him to the entry of Vestor's work area. Then… let him guide us
from there."

In addition to the two guards flanking Waleryn, four others guarded
the Praetor as the eight men walked from the audience hall to the
second floor of the south wing of the Praetorian palace. They
halted before an archway. One took a key and opened the door.

Once he was released, Waleryn stepped forward, walking past the
main workbench, then to the empty crystal tanks, where he eased
around the last tank to the smaller workbench in the corner, tucked
away out of sight—a bench slightly dusty and clearly unused for
some time.

Waleryn studied the small workbench for a moment, then slid back
the green quartz surface to reveal a polished and silvered metal
circle recessed beneath the oak that held the quartz top. "Here is
the mirror of which I spoke."

One of the guards stepped forward, then nodded to the Praetor,
who stood well back of the crystal tanks.

The Praetor moved past the tanks, but only far enough so that he
could see the mirror. "Proceed."

Waleryn took several deep breaths. After a time he concentrated,
staring deeply into the ruby mists that appeared, tinged somehow
with both purple and pink. Shortly, the mists cleared and revealed
the audience hall in Tempre, where the Lord-Protector sat upon a
white onyx throne, with a blue crystal glittering at the spire at the top
of the back of the throne.

"Another, if you will."

Waleryn concentrated, this time bringing up an image of the
audience hall they had so recently departed, where one of the
remaining guards was talking to another.

A smile crossed the Praetor's lips.

The amber crystal set in a small metal fitting beside the mirror
began to glow, and Waleryn stepped back. "That is all it will do for
now."

The image vanished, revealing once more just the metal, now
slightly tarnished, as if by fire.

"Why could you not see more?" asked the Praetor.

"This mirror is not a Table," Waleryn explained. "Had the engineer
made it of glass, already it would have shattered. For a Table to
work, it must be linked within the earth, as is the one in Prosp."

"Is? The building collapsed in the earthquake and destroyed that
Table."

Waleryn smiled.

"You dispute that?"

"The Table that he constructed in Prosp was buried by the
collapse of the building, but it is untouched."

"How could that be?" asked the Praetor.

"The Tables are linked within the earth. So long as the links are not
destroyed, a Table cannot be damaged." Waleryn smiled once
more. "Why don't you send someone to Prosp to see? If you have
not already. Or send me with them. Or come with us."

Tyren frowned.

"Would you not like to have the information that your sire had?"
asked Waleryn. "To see what is happening throughout Lustrea
without waiting days or weeks for dispatches? Knowing what did
happen without having to trust others, when you do not know whom
to trust? That is the beginning of what I provide. Just the
beginning."

"And you wish just a modest stipend?"

"And the means to continue the engineer's work, so that you and all
Lustrea may benefit." Waleryn bowed his head slightly. "And I, of
course, if to a lesser extent."

After a moment, Tyren nodded. "We will allow you those privileges,
but you will be watched for a time. Closely watched. I trust you
understand."

Waleryn bowed again. "I do, honored Praetor. How could it be
otherwise? "
Chapter 50

In the late afternoon, Alucius studied the camp. Situated on a low
hillcrest, it lay a good five vingts to the west of the high road—as an
eagle flew—and about five vingts south of where the scouts had
sighted the rebel roadblock. The northern slopes of the hill were
more heavily wooded, but the mixed firs, cedars, and junipers grew
out of steep and rocky broken ground that offered a slow, steep,
and treacherous climb for a rider, and much of the lower ground
held spiky thornbush. To the west was a long, sloping ridge, mostly
open, and the east offered a bluff nearly fifteen yards above a
narrow stream. To the south, the ground sloped more gradually
toward the narrow road—dirt and barely wide enough for two men
riding abreast.

From the hillcrest, there was enough of a vista that the lookouts
Alucius had ordered posted could see dust from the roads while
riders were still several vingts away. On the ride from the high road,
Alucius and the scouts had seen few tracks in the dusty road, and
those had been of single riders and carts, not even large wagons.
On their ride south and west, they had passed close to a score of
long-abandoned steads set on the side of Kills that looked too arid
to support much of anything.

While the camp was being established, Alucius had dispatched
Elbard and 'Waris to scout farther to the south and east. Even as
far away as three to four vingts south, the two had found no sign of
riders or posts, or much of anything, nor any sign of recent
movement of lancers or large numbers of mounts. That bothered
Alucius. Was he being too cautious? Should he have pressed
farther south? Or was he missing something?

It could just have been that the hilly land was too dry. Alucius
doubted that the lancers could have foraged off the land, even had
he wanted them to. The trees were mainly low junipers and twisted
cedars, with largish patches of spiky thornbush, and the grass,
although long in places, was already brown and sparse, certainly
not enough for more than three hundred mounts for long.

"Cookfires?" asked Feran from where he stood to the left of
Alucius.

"Small ones, but only if they can find dry wood that doesn't smoke
much," Alucius replied. "If you'd pass that on to Deotyr and Jultyr."

"I'll do that. I'd already said that was likely."

"You ought to be the one in charge." Alucius smiled faintly. In many
areas, Feran was well ahead of Alucius.

"No, thank you. I'm fine on the day-to-day things. You're much
better in battles and fights."

Alucius had his doubts, but only replied, "Good thing we're both
here." He lifted his eyes toward the south-southeast, in the
direction of Hyalt, supposedly fifteen vingts away. He saw nothing
but more of the same cedar- and juniper-covered hills. His Talent
had revealed no one nearby except for those of his own force and
few enough animals. Those were mainly grayjays and rodents of
various kinds.

"Rather neither one of us had to be," Feran grumbled. "Sir." He
brushed back a lock of the graying brown hair.

"I didn't exactly want to ride halfway across Corus, either. It's just
that the alternatives were worse."

"Why is it always that way?"

"It's not," Alucius replied with a laugh. "It's just that way for us."

"You are so cheerful, most honored Majer."

"I know." Alucius's voice turned somber. "How many really good
scouts do you have? Besides Elbard and Waris?"

"One, maybe two."

"Is there anyone from the other companies?"

"Jultyr says that one of his shows promise. Was raised in the Vyan
Hills. Father was a warden for some wealthy landowner. Son
tracked poachers for a while."

"No one else?"

Feran laughed.

"We'll do what we can, then. I'll want them all out early, well before
dawn. We need a quick picture of what's out between five and ten
vingts, not so much near the high road, but along the hills. There
are bound to be steads closer to the main road, but we need to
know what might be along the back route."

"One thing that bothers me," Feran said slowly. "There's no one
out here, but there are roads."

"I don't know for certain," Alucius replied, "but you saw all those
abandoned places."

Feran nodded.

"There used to be more people who lived out here. Like the north-
lands, I'd wager it's gotten drier and drier until holders couldn't
make it here. You also saw some of those hillsides, with all the
stumps? They're still logging the land, and probably most of the
roads out here are used for that."

"You think so?"

"I don't know what to think, but it makes sense. Whether I'm right is
another question." Alucius could only hope he had reached the
right conclusion, and not just about the deserted state of the
hillside lands. Time—and the scouting reports—would tell that.
Chapter 51

The scouts departed well before dawn, briefed as well as Alucius
knew how, and he stood silently as they rode southward. Feran
stood beside him. Alucius just watched, long after the four had
disappeared into the predawn grayness.

"You'd rather be scouting, wouldn't you?" asked Feran.

"It's hard, just watching." Alucius glanced toward the east, but the
sky had not brightened with the immediate welling of light that
heralded sunrise. "Harder than I realized."

"That's the problem of being in command. It's harder for you than
for anyone else."

Alucius suspected he knew what Feran was suggesting, but he
wasn't sure he wanted to admit it. "Oh?"

"You're a better scout than anyone you sent out. You're a better
lancer than anyone you command. You're a better company
captain than the rest of us. But you're not sure that you're a better
force commander. And you have to be the best." Feran shook his
head. "Me… I just want to be good enough to survive in one piece.
I'm happy to follow you because you don't do too many stupid
things, and you won't put men in any danger you wouldn't face
yourself, and you like to tilt the odds in your favor."

"You're so encouraging, Feran."

"Admit it… Majer."

Alucius laughed ironically. "You know me too well. I probably am a
better scout. I'm a herder, and I have more experience than most
scouts."

"More experience than just about all of them. You've fought and
scouted for every land in the west of Corus."

Alucius knew that was true, but it was the Talent-abilities that made
the difference. He still recalled Geran, the older scout he had
worked with in the Iron Valley Militia. Geran had no Talent and yet
could read the land as if it had been laid out in a book. Alucius still
needed his Talent to do that.

"You have to remember one thing… Majer." Feran's voice was low.

"What's that?"

"No matter how good you are, you can't do everything. You can't
scout and command at the same time, You can't always lead the
charge and also hang back to see where you should move
companies…"

"I suppose I needed that reminder." Alucius still wished he were
out with the scouts. He grinned briefly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir." Feran returned the grin.

As Alucius walked back toward the center of the camp, he had to
wonder. How did a man ever know when he'd reached the limit of
his abilities? The Lord-Protector had chosen Alucius because of
what he'd done mostly as a company captain, and as an individual
operating alone. Could he really command three companies
effectively? He took a deep breath. All he could do was listen,
learn, and do his best.

Light began to flood across the hilltop, and for a moment the sky
overhead was white-silver before darkening into a bright and
cloudless silver-green. There had been no rain at all since Alucius
had left Dekhron, and that had been the longest time he had spent
in Lanachrona without rain. Was that another sign that times were
changing—or just coincidence? He laughed softly. Not everything
was because of the ifrits and the soarers. At least, he didn't think
so.

While he waited for the scouts to return, he ran through a set of
drills with Twenty-eighth Company, then with Thirty-fifth Company.

Despite the drills and the debriefing of the captains, the morning
passed slowly, without any sign of riders on the back roads near
the encampment. Late morning arrived before the first scout
returned—Jultyr's Rakalt.

Alucius hurried down from the hillcrest to meet the scout halfway
up the south slope. He had the lancer—a rangy young man with a
narrow face and deep-set and intent green eyes—dismount and
have some water for the short time it took to summon the other
officers. Then he looked at Rakalt. "Tell us what you found out,
Rakalt."

"I followed the wider road west, like you said, sir." Rakalt met
Alucius's eyes, then swallowed. "It keeps going west, like you
thought. Two or three vingts from here, it crosses a dry creek, then
turns northwest. Half a vingt farther, it splits. The road going north is
rutted, but they're real old ruts. Doesn't look like anyone travels it. I
didn't see any new tracks. The left fork goes southwest. Not many
riders and wagons there, but some recent tracks in the dust. I
followed it close to five vingts, like you said, sir. By then it was
heading close to due south. There's nothing there, sir. Just bare
hillsides. They've logged off everything. Gullies everywhere. Won't
support more 'n rats and birds, maybe not that. Now… the tops of
the hills on the east side of the road, they got some trees, same
firs and junipers."

"What about the road itself?" asked Alucius. "Could you tell who
was using it?"

"Mostly single riders, looked like. Might have been patrols, but the
shoes weren't always the same, not like ours." Rakalt tilted his
head. "Had to be patrols. Only one set of tracks at a time."

Alucius continued to ask questions, with Feran occasionally adding
one or two of his own.

"How steep were the hills to the east of the road?"

"How sturdy were the bridges?"

"Did you see any dwellings or any smoke?"

"Did any of the hillsides look liked they'd been logged recently… ?"

After another quarter glass of questions—and answers from
Rakalt—Alucius paused, wondering what he'd overlooked. He took
a swallow from his water bottle, as much because he wasn't used
to talking that much as that the day was warm. He looked to Feran.
"Anything else you can think of?"

"No, sir." Feran's smile was ragged. "Wish I could."

Alucius looked to Jultyr.

"Ah… yes, sir… just one."

"Go ahead," Alucius said.

"Rakalt… sounds funny… but did you smell anything strange…
anywhere?" Jultyr's words were firm.

The scout squinted, cocking his head again. "Smells? No, sir…
don't recall anything like that. No strange smells."

Alucius nodded. He'd have to remember that one. It made a lot of
sense. As he turned back toward the scout, he heard a shout from
the south hillside.

"Majer! Dust on the main road—lots of riders, sir!"

Alucius whirled and looked to the south. There were actually two
clouds of dust—one a thin and barely visible plume, less than a
vingt from the bottom of the slope leading to the camp, and the
second a larger cloud perhaps half a vingt south of that—a scout
pursued by a squad or more of the local lancers or armsmen. So
much for surprise—the idea flashed through Alucius's thoughts
even as he raised his voice.

"Twenty-eighth Company! Mount up and form on me! Fifth
Company! Mount up. Flank Twenty-eighth Company to the west!
Thirty-fifth Company, mount-up and flank Twenty-eighth Company
to the east."

Alucius hurried toward the tieline that held his gray gelding. Even
after running uphill on foot to get his mount, he was mounted and
halfway back down the hillside before the first of Twenty-eighth
Company's lancers began to form up. After scanning the hillside
once again, he rode lower until he was only about a hundred fifty
yards from the road, and with the slope as gentle as it was, only
about six yards above the road's surface. The position, like
everything, was a compromise. He wanted his men close enough
to deliver withering fire, but in a location where the enemy would
have to charge uphill.

"Form up here!" he called upslope.

Feran and Fifth Company had already formed up farther uphill, and
the other two companies were moving into position east of Fifth
Company.

"Forward, and form on a line with the majer!" ordered Feran.

Alucius glanced toward the road. The trailing cloud of dust was
closing on the scout, but it looked as though the scout would reach
the camp before his pursuers could attain a position to allow any
accurate rifle shots—and any shots would be almost a matter of
luck with the twisting of the road and its uneven surface.

"Fifth Company in position, sir!"

"Thirty-fifth Company, sir!"

"Twenty-eighth Company, sir!"

Alucius turned in the saddle toward Feran. "Stagger and angle
them to get a clear line of fire from all files."

"Yes, sir."

Then he turned to Jultyr and repeated the command. By then,
Deotyr had Twenty-eighth Company in even ranks.

Alucius addressed Deotyr. "Captain, put them in a staggered right
oblique formation."

"Yes, sir." Deotyr turned in the saddle "Twenty-eighth Company!
Staggered right oblique."

The senior squad leader echoed the command, and Twenty-eighth
Company shifted into a mounted firing position. Alucius rode over
closer to Deotyr. "If they turn or break, I'll order Twenty-eighth
Company into pursuit. Be ready for that if it comes."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius eased the gray back to the west, reining up just at the point
where Fifth and Twenty-eighth Companies joined. He looked
westward, studying the empty section of road below and waiting.
He reminded himself that the Lanachronan rifles carried a ten-shot
magazine and had a longer range than the Northern Guard's
weapons. He continued to watch the road, even as he extended his
Talent senses. There was no sign of any Talent, but the trailing
riders were too far away for him to detect fainter Talent-usage.

Another quarter of a glass passed. Finally, a single rider emerged
from the last turn of the road before the straight section that
extended to the base of the hillside where Alucius's forces were
arrayed.

"All companies!" Alucius ordered. "Rifles ready. Fire at my
command."

"Rifles ready."

As the rider neared the encampment, less than a hundred yards
from the base of the slope, Alucius recognized Waris, despite the
dust-coated uniform. Behind him rode nearly two squads of lancers
in loose-fitting maroon tunics.

The rebel lancers fired occasional shots at Waris, but all seemed
to fall short or wide. But they were closing slowly on the scout so
that, when Waris reached the foot of the slope, the oncoming rebel
lancers were but three hundred yards behind him. The scout eased
his mount uphill and toward the Guard companies.

Alucius waved Waris past. "Go on." He waited until the oncoming
lancers were within fifty yards of the base of the hill. Then he
ordered, "Fire at will!"

"Fire at will!"

A series of rapid cracks came from Twenty-eighth Company, then
from Thirty-fifth Company. The deeper-sounding reports from the
heavier Northern Guard rifles were more deliberate.

Only a handful of shots from the first volley struck. Alucius saw one
rebel lurch in the saddle and another pitch sideways. He lifted his
own rifle and fired carefully. His first shot struck a man in the
shoulder. His second took another rebel out of his saddle.

A squad leader rode first among the maroon-clad lancers,
flourishing a blade half again as long as a lancer sabre. Despite the
continuing fire from the Lanachronan forces, he charged to the end
of the road, then upslope toward Alucius.

Alucius targeted the man, and his first shot slammed through the
man's left shoulder. The rebel remained in the saddle, still
brandishing his long blade. Alucius paused only for a moment
before putting a second shot into the man's chest, slightly to the
left of his breastbone. Still clutching the blade, the man was less
than fifty yards from Alucius before the majer's last shot smashed
a gaping hole in the attacker's forehead.

As quickly as he could, Alucius switched rifles. He took slightly
longer with each shot, trying for head shots as much as possible.
He knew what he was seeing couldn't be happening, but it looked
like almost nothing besides a head shot, one through the heart, or
enough fire to dismember one of the rebel lancers was enough to
stop one.

He felt as though he were fumbling every time he reloaded, but he
had the rifle up quickly enough and continued to fire. He kept
reloading and firing, watching rebel lancers fall. In time, he got only
one shot off after reloading when he realized that there was no one
moving downslope.

"Hold your fire!" he ordered.

"Hold your fire!"

As the last rifle reports died away, Alucius glanced downhill. From
what he could see, only a handful of his force had been killed or
wounded. Then, he looked at the thirty-odd bodies strewn on the
hillside. There were several loose and riderless mounts, but not
one rebel had slowed or turned back.

After a moment, Alucius rode slowly downhill, shaking his head,
seeing the gaping wounds in every body. Yet he could sense only
the faintest touch of Talent—certainly not enough to have kept men
who were dying or already dead moving forward in an attack.

Feran had been generous earlier, because this time Alucius had
been stupid. He'd been lucky to lose so few men. He should have
had them in trenches or embankments, or behind trees. He'd
thought that the attackers would have turned and retreated, given
their far fewer numbers, and he'd wanted to be able to pursue
them. Then again, the ground was so hard it would have been
impossible to have dug effective trenches… but his tactics had still
been stupid.

Near the bottom of the hill, he turned the gray and started back
upslope. "Overcaptain, captains, report as you can!"

He continued toward Feran and Fifth Company, reining up short of
the overcaptain.

Feran offered a ragged smile.

Alucius shrugged, adding in a voice low enough that only Feran
could hear, "We were lucky this time. I've never seen anything like
that."

"Haven't either. They using Talent?"

"Just the littlest trace of it. Shouldn't have made any difference."

"That's scary," Feran murmured.

Alucius had to agree, if silently. It had taken the mass fire of three
companies for almost half a glass.

Egyl reined up, waiting. Both officers looked to him.

"Two dead, sirs, three wounded."

"Thank you, Egyl," Alucius replied.

"Yes, sir." Egyl turned his mount.

While Egyl hadn't felt or expressed reproach, Alucius knew that the
senior squad leader had every right to do so.

"Any captives?" Alucius asked.

"No, sir."

Alucius looked down at the fallen rebels, then at Feran. "Can you
take care of the dead? Have them checked for anything that would
tell us something. Just two burial pits for the rebels, one for
mounts, the other for men. Draw some men from each of the
companies."

"I'll take care of it."

"Thank you. We'll meet later," Alucius told Feran, before turning his
mount eastward toward the center of Twenty-eighth Company.
Deotyr and Jultyr had drawn up their mounts side by side.

"Three dead, four wounded. Only one seriously, sir," reported
Deotyr.

"Two wounded. Not serious. We weren't in their line of fire,"
offered Jultyr.

For that Alucius was grateful.

"Were there any survivors? Any captives?"

Both captains exchanged glances, then looked at Alucius. No, sir.

Alucius managed not to frown. "Thank you. Overcaptain Feran will
be drawing some men from each of you for a burial and disposal
detail."

"Yes, sir."

"Take care of what you need to handle. Dismissed." Alucius raised
his voice. "All companies, stand down, except for burial and
disposal detail."

The first skirmish of the campaign was over, and he should have
felt relieved. His force had killed more than thirty attackers and lost
only five men. But… he'd misjudged the situation, and had there
been twice as many attackers, the results would have been far
different. The faint touch of Talent indicated something besides ifrit
involvement, but what? He pursed his lips. There had been no
survivors, and none of the attackers had tried to retreat. There was
so much he didn't know.

He looked around, searching for Waris, to find out what the scout
might have discovered, only to see the scout standing grooming
his mount less than fifty yards away.

"Officers forward! Without your mounts."

Alucius eased the gray up to Waris. "We'll need your report,
Waris."

Waris was still covered in dust, and his mount had clearly been
pushed earlier, although the scout had brushed out the dust from
the roan's coat, but there were still traces of sweat. Waris looked at
Alucius. "Had to push him hard to get clear, sir. Saved my ass, he
did." After a pause, he added, "Looks like you had a little trouble
here, too."

"We did," Alucius replied. "That's why we need to hear what you
found out. We'll be down there by the cedar."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius rode his gray back to the tieline, where he tethered the
gelding. Then he walked partway downhill to an area shaded by the
low but broad cedar he had pointed out to Waris and waited for the
others to join him. His eyes looked downhill, taking in the fallen
men and the lancers searching and dragging bodies to the west,
where part of the hill had slumped, leaving an easier disposal site.

He looked up as the two captains and Feran rejoined him. "Waris
will be here in a moment."

"Elbard and Chorat are still missing," Feran said.

Alucius could only hope they had been delayed.

Waris walked downhill and stopped short of the half circle of
officers. After a moment, he began. "They sent three lancers after
me, sir, and I took out all three. Didn't change anything. Hadn't
gotten a vingt away when they had another three after me. Almost
half a squad after one scout? Don't understand that, sir."

Alucius gestured to the slope below them. "They sent a squad and
a half against three companies. Not one turned back."

Waris shook his head slowly.

"If they had so many after you," asked Alucius, "how did you
escape?"

Waris grinned. "Figured if we got far enough away from their camp,
they wouldn't know to send more. I shot 'em, one after the other.
They can't shoot as well as my one-armed grandmother."

"Before you got rousted out, what did you find?"

"Took the narrow dirt road, sir, like you told me. Three vingts south
of here, it forks. One fork goes mostly south, maybe a little east,
and the other heads due west. Tracks on both, but, well, couldn't
tell you, except I thought I ought to see about the west fork first.
Follows the bottom of a ridgeline little less than two vingts through
trees sort of spaced like the ones here. Goes pretty straight,
though. Ends in an open space. Lucky I stopped in the trees. Was
trying to see what was there, and saw some smoke ahead. So I
circled around the clearing and eased up the hillside. Couldn't get
too close 'cause the whole slope is covered in that spiky thorn
stuff. But… got high enough to get a pretty good view. It's almost
like a lancer post, sir. They got long sheds like barracks, and even
stables. They're on a flat. Behind them, there's something dug or
carved into the rock of the hillside."

"Are there any places from where you could mount an attack? "
asked Alucius.

"In two places," the scout added. "There's a lower meadow to the
east of whatever's dug into the cliff, and there's an upper meadow
to the southwest. You might be able to come over the top of the
hill, but then it's like a cliff coming down… have to do that on foot.
They've also got a perimeter cleared on the west side of the hill,
posts every hundred yards or so. That was where I got seen."

"Do they have any walls or palisades?"

"Not much. They don't need them. They've got a gate across the
road to Hyalt—think it must be the road to Hyalt, anyway. It's a
good, wide, packed road… got walls on each side of the gate for
maybe a hundred yards. Beyond that, you've got those thorn
thickets and rough ground. If one doesn't get you or your mount,
seems like the other would."

"How many lancers are there?" asked Feran.

"Couldn't say for sure, sir. I'd guess maybe two companies. Could
be more if they've got barracks in the caves. Couldn't be too many
more, though, because all the mounts are stabled. Stables might
hold three hundred."

"We'll need to find out if they've got other outposts," Alucius said
to Feran. "Somehow." He looked at Waris. "Did you see many
wagons?"

Close to another glass passed before Alucius was satisfied that
he'd learned everything that he could from Waris. Even so, he
suspected he'd missed things.

After they finished debriefing Waris, Alucius and Feran walked to
the hillcrest. There they settled on two low boulders, slowly eating
travel bread and hard cheese, washing the heavy food down with
swallows from their water bottles.

"Some ways, this is worse than Deforya," mused Feran. "There,
we knew what we were up against. Here…" He shook his head.

"The more we discover, the worse it gets. Is that what you mean?"
asked Alucius.

"That charge… the lancers chasing Waris…" Feran smiled faintly.
"He sounded like you. Could be that's what we need."

Alucius didn't feel like pursuing that. Was the only solution to kill
more than your enemy? "We really need to know more. I hope the
other scouts can find out more."

"It's early yet, and we've gotten two back already," Feran said.

"We're missing two, still. Elbard… and your other one…"

"Chorat. He begged me to let him do it."

"He had the area to the south and east of Hyalt."

"You don't think he's coming back."

"We'll have to see." Inside, Alucius worried whether either of the
remaining scouts would return.

After the two finished eating, Feran headed down to check on the
burial detail and Alucius walked the perimeter of the encampment,
using his Talent, directing it outward to sense if anyone might be
stalking or scouting them. He found no signs of outsiders to the
east, south, or west, and a good glass later, he was standing a full
fifty yards below the crest on the north side of the hill, trying to
make sure that no one was sneaking up from the least obvious
side, but there was no one there. There weren't even many
rodents, and few enough birds. He turned and began to walk back
uphill.

He looked up as a lancer hurried downhill. "Sir! Overcaptain Feran
needs you, sir. Elbard's back, and he's wounded bad, sir."

"Show me!" Alucius hurried after the young lancer, back over the
hillcrest and another hundred yards downhill.

Elbard lay stretched on a ground cloth. A lancer Alucius didn't know
had bound the scout's shoulder and chest, and Feran stood there,
his face impassive, listening.

Alucius let his Talent range over the wounded scout as he listened.

"… one moment… was watching the town… next thing, I was…
almost like sleeping… except I was awake, but I didn't hear
anything… never heard the rifle… pain of the bullet… guess broke
the spell… just a boy… standing there… wore a sloppy maroon
uniform… must have walked up to me… no more… fifty yards…
Shot… never heard him… Hurt like… managed to get a shot off…
didn't miss…" A hollow laugh came from Elbard. "Boy… he looked
surprised. Managed to get to my mount… Suppose… shouldn't
gone all the way to Hyalt… where the road led…"

Slowly, the majer reached out with his Talent, strengthening the
lifethread, and doing what else he could to knit bones and muscles
together. Alucius's vision was blurring by the time he finished.

Elbard looked to be sleeping.

"I think he'll make it," Alucius said hoarsely. He looked at the lancer
who had bound the wounds. "Let me or Overcaptain Feran know
when he wakes." Yes, sir.

Alucius began to walk slowly back uphill and away from the group
around Elbard.

Accompanying Alucius, Feran looked back at the scout, then to the
majer. His voice was low as he spoke. "That takes a lot out of you,
doesn't it?"

Alucius debated denying it, then shrugged tiredly. Feran already
knew; he'd known for years, even if they'd never spoken of it. "I can
only do one or two a day, if that, and nothing else. It's useless in a
battle."

"They say… you can't heal yourself, can you?"

"No. I think I heal a little faster than most people, but Talent doesn't
work that way."

"Why…"

"Because he's a good scout. Because we need to know what else
he found out." And because, Alucius had to admit to himself, he
felt guilty for sending Elbard out into trouble. "What he ran into—it
sounds like… some kind of Talent. I've never heard of anything like
that, though."

"Nothing herders can do?"

"Not that I know of," Alucius admitted.

"That would explain why none of Frynkel's scouts got back."

"It might."

"You think there's more?" asked Feran.

"I don't know, but…"

"They wouldn't send us—or you—unless it was something tough,"
Feran pointed out.

"There's one thing that doesn't make much sense. Weslyn was
totally opposed to my being sent here."

Feran laughed. "That makes perfect sense. When you were a
herder, you were out of the Guard. Now, you're a majer. You pull
this out, and you're the Lord-Protector's favorite. Even I can tell that
Marshal Frynkel despises Weslyn, and—"

"We'd better think more about how to pull this off," Alucius said
quickly. "Tomorrow, we'll send a messenger back to the last
manned post, letting the marshal know about it." He could hear the
reluctance in his voice. "We'll also have to request more
ammunition."

"You don't like that," observed Feran.

"No… but he and the Lord-Protector should know."

"Elbard was the only one who felt this. Are you sure … ?"

"We sent out four scouts. One hasn't returned. Two got chased
back, and one of them got Talent-spelled and wounded. Frynkel
sent at least a few. None of them got back. What does that tell
you?"

Feran offered a bitter chuckle. "They got some sort of Talent
watching over them. Is that what you're thinking?"

"What else could it be?" After a moment, Alucius added, "Unless
it's something worse."

"You know of anything worse?"

"The return of the True Duarchy." Alucius forced a wry dryness into
his voice.

Feran nodded.

"Let's get the captains and go over the maps." Alucius turned and
headed back toward the tielines and his mount, and the
saddlebags that held the maps.

As he walked, he went over the questions in his mind.

The rebels knew where he and his force were—at least in general
terms. They might not know exactly where, since there had been
no survivors of the attack, but he had one missing scout,
presumably dead, and one who had been wounded and one who
had left a trail of bodies. If he kept the three companies where they
were, he'd need to have them dig in, and the hillside wasn't that
suited to digging in. On the other hand, he knew far too little about
the land and the people, and who controlled what—and how. Every
move, every ride, was into the unknown. But… he reflected… from
what he'd seen, the rebel lancers weren't that good. They were
only fanatics. Only?

He laughed softly to himself.

He knew more about attacking than defending—a great deal more.
His forces would have to move on.
Chapter 52
Alustre, Lustrea

The man in the silver cloak and matching trousers walked up the
stone steps of the ancient covered arena toward what had once
been the Duarch's box. Beside and behind him were two quints of
guards, wearing silver-gray trousers and tunics. Each of the ten
guards bore a brace of two-shot pistols and a gladius. The
covered arena was dimly lit, the only light coming through the
arched windows that were covered with grime.

A stocky man in dark blue stood beside a device that resembled a
cannon, save that what would have been the barrel was composed
of crystals set in holders and connected by silver wire and that the
armored square body, three yards long and slightly less than two
wide, rested on four ironbound wheels, rather than the two wheels
and trunnion mounting used for cannon. He bowed. "As you
requested, all is ready, Praetor."

"How does it work, Waleryn?"

"Very well, Praetor." The stocky figure smiled, drawing his lips into
a pleasant expression belied by the coldness in his eyes.

"Then proceed to show us, if you will." The Praetor turned to look
At the center of the arena, where several battered statues had
been placed. Armor had been strapped on two of the horsemen. In
addition to the statues, there was a shield wall, looking as it might in
battle, except that the shields had been fastened together rather
than held by soldiers.

Waleryn stepped up to the device and drew down a lever. The
faintest humming sounded, thin, high, and intense enough that
several of the guards stiffened. After a moment, a line of blue-
green fire—or light—flashed from the crystal barrel, light so intense
that the Praetor was forced to close his eyes.

When Tyren could see again, the center of the arena contained
nothing except an oval of rough glass from which rose heat waves,
as in the southern deserts.

The Praetor hid a swallow. "Very impressive. How far will it reach?
"

"At the moment, this one has a range of just less than a vingt—say,
eighteen hundred yards."

"How often can you use it?"

"It takes about a tenth of a glass to recharge, but if I adjust the
aperture, it could destroy a line of troops three hundred yards
across and fifty deep."

"What makes it work? And keep the explanation simple this time."

"The essence that supports the Talent… it infuses all of Corus, all
of the oceans and the air as well. It is a force, like fire, except it
cannot be seen but through its manifestations." Waleryn took the
white leather gloves that he held in his right hand and gently used
the fingertips to brush away a fleck of something that had
appeared on his lower left sleeve. "The crystals inside the tube
barrel concentrate and refine this essence into elemental force,
call it a fire, that will burn anything."

"Anything?" The slender Praetor laughed, a cool and mocking
sound. "That is claiming much."

"Oh, there is more to it than that. Because it draws and
concentrates this essence, it can reduce the power of those with
the Talent who might oppose you and your forces."

"How many of these can you fabricate?"

"The materials are most costly, as you know."

"You had said it would be easier after the first few."

"Easier, yes… but not that much less costly."

"Hmmm… fabricate another five. That way we will have two for
each force crossing the Spine of Corus." The Praetor smiled. "I
am sure that you can manage that, Lord Waleryn."

"Your Mightiness is too kind." Waleryn bowed again, his gesture
nearly as mocking as the words of the Praetor.

"If these devices prove their worth in the campaigns ahead, you
can look to great rewards, perhaps even, shall we say, the
prefectship over Lanachrona." Tyren nodded and turned.

Two of the guards remained flanking Waleryn for several
moments, until the Praetor had entered the ancient tunnel that led
back to the underground carriageway. Then, they too departed,
leaving Waleryn standing beside his weapon.

The eyes of the Lanachronan lord flashed purplish for a moment,
watching the departing guards, but he said nothing at all, before
tapping the bell beside the projector to summon his engineers-in-
training.
Chapter 53

At dawn on Septi, the three companies were on the move, headed
westward and following the road that Rakalt had scouted the day
before. From the maps and from what the scouts had discovered,
Alucius was fairly certain that the one rebel camp was to the east of
the road they traveled, perhaps by as little as a vingt, certainly no
more than two. If the maps were correct, he noted to himself from
where he rode at the head of the force, beside Feran.

Elbard was better, although he was riding in one of the supply
wagons, and he had told Alucius and Feran more about Hyalt
itself—a town rather than a city, and one that had seemed half-
deserted, but with maroon-clad armsmen seemingly on every
street, at least of those that the scout had seen from his hilltop
vantage point before he'd been Talent-spelled. Alucius didn't like
the thought that the rebels had enough men to place so many in
the town itself, and he had to wonder from where all of them had
come. To that question, like so many others, he had no answer.

Alucius had worked with Feran and the fifth squad of Fifth
Company the night before, with cloth taken from the downed rebel
lancers and some of the gunpowder from the Southern Guard
wagon. While gunpowder exploded, it also burned, and that was
what Alucius had in mind. He'd decided against sending a
messenger north immediately, because, once he'd thought about
what he could report and request, he determined that no one would
believe him, and, even if they did, they wouldn't understand the
danger that he could explain—and he couldn't explain about the
ifrits. That was something no one would believe, especially since
he had not seen a one, just their influence and traces.

"Better to be moving, rather than sitting and waiting," Feran said.

"I feel better on the move, too, but I'd like to know more about
where we're moving," Alucius replied dryly.

"Even when you do know, you really don't."

Feran was probably right about that, too, reflected Alucius. So
often, knowledge could be an illusion, particularly if the knowledge
wasn't firsthand and hard-won.

"I've been thinking about the scouts," Alucius said. "What if we just
sent patrols down the roads, maybe full squads as patrols?"

"You don't think they'd just pick them off?"

"Not at first. They'd have to send out squads and patrol all the
roads. I'd like to learn more about this place."

"If what you have planned for today goes right, they might do that
tomorrow."

"Where?" asked Alucius. "Even if they have two other camps and
six companies, they don't know where we'll be. If the lancers we
fought the other day are any example, we'll do better at picking
them off here and there. We'll attack, then move back to the way
station and get refreshed and resupplied." He should have
adopted that approach to begin with, but he'd never dealt with
anything like the situation in Hyalt before. Then again, he doubted
anyone had.

He looked at the hills to the northwest. The stump-covered and
gullied ground looked tired, with its intermittent low bushes and
sparse grass. Even to his Talent, it felt tired. Could land feel tired?
According to what the soarer had told him years before, whole
worlds got tired, and the ifrits made that happen more quickly. But
how long did worlds last? Or did the worlds continue on as lifeless
lumps once the spirit of life was exhausted?

"You look grim," Feran observed, his voice cheerful. "We haven't
even seen anyone. Isn't that better than another skirmish right off?"

"I was just thinking."

"That can be dangerous," Feran said lightly.

Alucius chuckled, then observed, "There weren't any survivors. No
one tried to escape. I've never seen that."

"Haven't either. Could just have been the way things happened
there."

"Could be."

"You don't sound convinced."

"Are you?"

Feran shook his head.

Ahead, the road began a long and gentle turn more to the south.
To the west, beyond the rolling hills, was another set of higher,
redder, and drier hills, and in the dim hazy distance, the peaks of
the Coast Range, marking the old boundary between Lanachrona
and Madrien. To the east was a short flat stretch of meadow,
although the grass was also sparse, before the ground rose into
juniper- and cedar-sprinkled hills.

As the companies rode southward, and as the sun crept over the
hills to the east, Alucius continued to study the road and the area to
the east. After another two vingts, the road turned due south, then
angled sharply westward. As he neared the curve, Alucius turned
to Feran. "We'll stop at the turn there."

"Column, halt! Pass it back!"

"Column halt!"

Fifth Company came to a halt, followed by Thirty-fifth and Twenty-
eighth Companies.

"You're going to lead the squad, aren't you?" asked Feran.

Alucius had debated himself, back and forth, on whether he should
lead the fire detail. In the end, he'd decided he would do so. One
reason was simple enough—if necessary, he could use his Talent
to touch off the powder. "I know it will work, and they're more likely
to get back." Alucius smiled. "If you thought I was wrong, you'd say
something."

"I don't like it, but you're probably right." Feran snorted. "I've been
worried about this duty from the beginning, and I still am."

"So am I, but that's another question. We'll be as quick as we can."
Alucius turned the gray. "Fifth squad forward!"

Nineteen men rode forward along the edge of the narrow road, led
by Zerdial. The once-youthful-looking and thin squad leader was
harder than when Alucius had first made him a squad leader, and
the thinness had become a tough angularity. The squad leader
reined up.

"Zerdial, your squad set? With all the burn bags?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's head out, then, along that trail until we reach that outcropping
to the southeast. One scout two hundred yards ahead."

"Yes, sir. Orlant, you take scout."

Once Orlant was past him, Alucius turned the gray off the road and
along the narrow trail following the scout. Zerdial and the rest of
fifth squad followed.

For the first several hundred yards the trail was almost flat. Then it
swung south between two cedars and angled back east, up the
side of the hill in a gradual climb. Although Orlant was well forward,
Alucius scanned the trail in front as well as the sparse woods on all
sides. For the first half glass, he could detect almost nothing
except some grayjays and rodents. As they neared the top of the
first rise, through the trees, Alucius could see a thin trail of smoke
to the east against the early-morning sky, beyond an even steeper
line of hills.

The squad drew up at the ridge crest, with Orlant and another scout
posted out from the squad, while Alucius spent several moments
checking his maps and studying the two narrow trails. Then he
nodded. "The left one. It should bring us up on the north side of
the camp, and if Waris's reports were right, we could come out on
a low bluff."

The trail wound down, then back up and farther to the north before
turning back to the southeast. To cover perhaps a vingt as an eagle
flew took close to three vingts on the trail, and it was late
midmorning when they stopped again.

To the south beyond the thicker junipers where Alucius had
ordered the stop and just over the ridgeline above them, Alucius
could sense both people and something that was similar to an ifrit,
but wasn't, a vague dark purpleness. What could be like an ifrit, but
not? He decided that question could wait. As he scanned with his
Talent, he looked at the maps once more, not that he needed
them, but he wasn't about to explain that he didn't. He raised his
eyes to Zerdial.

"The camp is almost due south, over that ridge. We'll ride up
through the trees and stop just short of the top. Then I'll move
forward and study the layout quickly and come back with
instructions on who will use their burn bags where."

"Yes, sir." Zerdial turned in the saddle. "Follow the majer, and keep
it quiet."

Alucius eased the gray from behind the junipers and started up the
uneven slope. He reined up about twenty yards from the crest.
There he dismounted and handed the gray's reins to Orlant.
Carrying one rifle, he made his way up the slope, moving sideways
as well, until he reached the crest at a point just behind an ancient
cedar. Keeping low, he eased up behind the cedar's trunk and
studied what lay below.

Several grayjays squawked, but then flew westward.

The camp was almost exactly the way that Waris had described
it—or rather, Waris had described it accurately. Alucius studied the
lines of vegetation and the trees and spiky thorns particularly. All
but one area could be reached from cover, and the wind was from
the west, which should fan the flames downhill into the areas of dry
spiky thornbush. Alucius set down his rifle and took out the map,
marking the spots for each two-man team.

Then he spent more time using his Talent. He could detect no one
in the heights above the camp—not a single patrol or sentry. That
suggested a lack of solid military training, or something else. The
darkish purple that was visible only to Talent seemed to be
centered in the cave area that was to his right and farther south, but
there was a thin miasma over the entire camp. For Alucius, that
was as good as an announcement that the ifrits were involved. It
was also useless as an explanation of anything to anyone else. He
couldn't exactly explain the evil behind beings that no one else had
seen and no one else alive could explain—except for Wendra and
the ifrits and their allies and servants.

Finally, he slipped back down to the waiting squad.

"Gather round." As the squad circled around Alucius, he began.
"We're just to the north of the camp, and it's below us, set against
a curve in the bluffs. Each of you is to fuse your burn bags and
place them so that the areas of brush and thorn catch fire. That will
take away part of their defenses so that we can attack later from
more points. It might also keep them guessing. Once you get
things burning, return to the juniper grove down below here. We'll
reassemble there. Anyone who's not back in a glass will have to
find his own way back. Is that understood? Now… I'll explain to
each team where your targets are…" Using the map and his own
study of the camp, he described each target area to each two-man
team. When he was finished, he looked at Zerdial. "Let's go."

He remounted the gray and rode eastward, keeping below the
crest of the ridge but still scanning with his Talent. He picked up
more rodents, including tree-rats, and the grayjays, and several
larger animals—a mountain cat, he thought, and several deer—but
no sentries or patrols. That absence continued to worry him.

Alucius had given himself the farthest and the trickiest assignment,
the one to the east, just above the broadest section of spiky
thorn—but the area most vulnerable to an attack by lancers if there
were no thorns. It was also the closest to the camp, and the one
area most likely to have patrols.

A good vingt to the east and south, Alucius reined up below the
ridge-line, although it was more of a plateau running to a drop-off
holding the spiky thorns than a ridge. From what he could see and
sense, the only guard was one stationed at the end of the palisade
running out from the gate at the narrow east road entrance.

Alucius dismounted and tied the gray to the only tree nearby, a
bent juniper. He took the three burn bags from behind the saddle
and slung them over his shoulder. Then, rifle in hand, and moving
in a low crouch, he eased along the gentle slope toward the drop-
off. He crawled the last few yards until he was stretched behind a
low bush. From there, he looked at the spiky thorn below. It was
farther away than he had realized, a good fifty yards to the south of
the base of the low bluff, and the area was open and exposed
enough that to drop down the two-yard irregular rocky and sandy
slope, then move close enough to make sure that the spiky thorn
caught fire, would leave him totally exposed to the sentry—and
anyone else who might be alerted.

The sentry was not especially alert, but he did scan the area where
Alucius lay.

Alucius looked westward and uphill, watching.

One thin trail of smoke appeared, then another. Shortly, there was
a third.

"Fire!" The call was faint, but Alucius could make it out.

He lifted his rifle and waited.

Finally, the guard turned to look to the west, moving enough away
from the wooden pillars of his sentry box so that Alucius had a
clear shot. At that distance, it took him two shots, but with the
yelling from the camp, no one noticed—for the moment—the
sentry slump out of sight.

At that instant, Alucius left the rifle and scuttled over the edge of
the drop-off, scrambling down the sandy and rocky slope, then ran
toward the wall of spiky thorn.

Striker in hand, he lit the fuse of the first burn bag and hurled it to
the south. The second went straight in front of him, to the
southwest, and the third flew to the west-southwest. He paused for
a moment, using his Talent, but he could feel that all three bags
were burning fiercely. He also sensed no one nearby.

He ran back toward the bluff, scrabbling up the slope, grabbed his
rifle, then hurried across the near flat until he reached his mount. A
quick glance to the west showed that more fires were appearing
around the rebel camp. From the south, Alucius could hear a bell
clanging as he untied the gray and mounted.

He rode back westward at a quick walk. There was a wind, light and
out of the southeast. Alucius wasn't sure what, if any, effect the
wind would have, but he could see the smoke welling up from the
south in more and more places, and the air around him began to
smell smoky as well.

As he neared the rendezvous point, Alucius began to sense other
men coming from the south. They had to have been climbing
straight up from the camp below, but near the rendezvous point,
that climb was close to a hundred yards of near-vertical face.

"Zerdial! Is everyone here?" Yes, sir!

Alucius almost ordered them to depart. Instead, realizing that a half
squad or so of rebels had reached the top of the bluff and that
those rebels were almost at the ridgeline, he snapped. "Oblique
firing line to the south! Now!"

Despite the irregular command, fifth squad formed up.

"Rifles ready!"

Alucius watched the ridgetop until, within moments, nine men in
maroon charged over the top on foot and down toward fifth squad,
raising their rifles as they ran.

"Fire at will!"

Twenty rifles fired almost as one. Four men dropped where they
stood. Two others, blood streaming across faces and tunics,
staggered forward. Three others sprinted toward the lancers as if
nothing could touch them, shooting wildly. Fifth squad continued to
fire.

Alucius held his own fire, looking to the ridgeline. Two more
armsmen in maroon appeared, and they too hurried downslope,
both of them headed directly toward Alucius.

Alucius lifted his own rifle, aimed, and fired. The bullet struck the
first of the remaining two armsmen in the forehead, and he pitched
forward onto the trail. Alucius hit the second man in the shoulder,
but the rebel still tried to aim his weapon at Alucius until Alucius's
third shot silenced him.

Alucius had thought about taking captives or prisoners, but the way
the rebels fought so far, trying that would have been near-suicidal
for any lancer who tried. He turned the gray toward fifth squad. One
lancer was on the ground.

Zerdial shook his head.

"Get him over his mount," Alucius ordered. "We need to get out of
here before any more of them show up." He could sense others
climbing the escarpment behind the rebel camp, but they would not
reach the top for another quarter glass, he judged. Already, the sky
was filling with the hazy smoke from the fires below, and he could
smell the burning thorn plants.

In moments, the dead lancer—Hylik—was fastened over his
saddle, and fifth squad was on the trail back to meet up with the
other companies.

As they rode westward along the trail, Alucius frowned, thinking.
What was going on in Hyalt? It was one thing for a single armsman
to try an ambush or to fight back when cornered, but to try a
suicidal charge against mounted lancers on an open trail? To climb
a hundred yards up an escarpment and attack a larger force
without even trying to use cover?

Behind him, the fires continued to burn, sending smoke higher and
higher, and from what he could see looking backward, it appeared
as though some of the fires had spread from the spiky thorn
patches into the cedar and juniper groves as well.

Midafternoon came and went before Alucius and fifth squad rode
across the last few hundred yards to the road, passing Waris,
standing scout on the trail.

"Anyone come this way?" asked Alucius.

"No, sir. No one on the trail but you, and no one at all on the road.
Spooky, if you ask me."

The more Alucius saw of Hyalt, the spookier it was.

As Alucius rode up, Feran gestured toward the east. "You were
successful, I see."

"We got the fires set. We didn't stay to see if they burned the way
we planned. We took out close to a squad of defenders. They
attacked exactly the same way—just a blind rush at us, firing their
rifles. We lost Hylik. An unfortunate and lucky shot. The rebel was
running full speed downhill."

"They weren't good shots?"

"Except that one shot… no."

Alucius looked back to the east, where the hilltops were a mass of
fire. Gray and black smoke rose into the hazy sky. With the harvest
dryness of the spiky thornbushes, when the fires burned out, the
thorn cover that had protected the approaches from the west and
northeast would be gone. So might some of the log walls and
palisades, although Alucius doubted that the heat would be intense
enough for long enough to fire heavy logs.
Chapter 54

On Septi night, the three companies had made camp some five
vingts directly southwest of the rebel encampment, but a distance
closer to fifteen by the roads, if the maps were accurate. Even so,
there had been a glow in the sky for a time after sunset.

Octdi morning dawned hazy, and the scent of smoke remained in
the air, carried by a gentle breeze out of the north. Shortly after
dawn, the lancers were back on the road that had turned southeast
and would eventually circle Hyalt to the south, then to the east—that
was, if the maps were correct. So far they had been, and the
reports from the lancers scouting the road ahead had confirmed
that for the next few vingts, at least, the road and the map agreed.

The road dust and dirt showed signs of patrols, but only by a few
riders and not by squads or larger groups. As he rode at the head
of the column beside Captain Jultyr, Alucius wondered how soon it
would be before that changed.

"You think the rebels will come after us?" asked Jultyr almost idly,
as if to open conversation.

"After what you've seen so far… what do you think?" countered
Alucius gently.

"They seem like hornets. You know what I mean. You hit the nest,
and they all take off, all at once. Never seen an outfit charge like
that squad the other day. Not even the Matrites. Have you, sir?"

"No." Alucius shook his head. "Even the grassland nomads didn't
do that, not where every man charged superior weapons and
positions without taking some evasive action or using cover."

"Word is that there's Talent here."

"There is. I'm a herder, and I think any herder would feel what I've
felt. Nothing like it anywhere I've been." Alucius offered a laugh,
partly forced. "It hasn't stopped them from getting killed." He would
have said more, except he could see a lancer scout riding toward
them, almost at a gallop.

Alucius kept riding, waiting until the scout—Hikal, used only for
road scouting—pulled in and swung his mount into a walk beside
Alucius.

"Sir…"

"Lancers headed our way?" asked Alucius.

"Yes, sir. Looks to be a full company ahead—same maroon
uniforms—and they're riding hard this way."

"How hard?"

The youngish Hikal flushed. "Quick trot, but they've got their rifles
at the ready."

"How far are they?"

"Two vingts, sir. No more than three."

"What else?"

"They're quiet, sir. Real quiet. No talking. No singing. They're just
riding. Seems strange."

"They see you?"

"Don't think so, but I moved back quick."

"Any wagons or any foot with them?"

"No, sir. Just looked to be a company of horse. That's all."

Silently, for a moment, Alucius studied the terrain. To the left of the
road were lowlands, ground that would have been marshland with
more rain and perhaps once had been. To the right were the same
rolling hills, with only a gentle slope and the heavier grass that
seemed to grow closer to Hyalt. A line of thorn olives that might
once have been a windbreak blocked a clear view of the road to
the south, but there was no sign of the stead that might have
planted the windbreak.

Alucius turned to Roncar, one of his messengers, riding just
behind Jultyr and him.

"Call the other officers forward."

"Yes, sir."

While he waited for Roncar to get word to Feran and Deotyr,
Alucius went over the lay of the land again, matching what he saw
against what he had in mind.

Once Feran and Deotyr had ridden up, Alucius ordered the column
to halt.

Then, facing the other three officers, he began to explain. "We've
got a rebel company headed toward us. They're in battle dress and
looking for a fight, according to the scouts. We'll give them one."
Alucius paused, letting the words sink in before continuing.

"We'll form an arc. Fifth Company will take the forward part—right
behind the trees over to the right. Then Thirty-fifth Company,
running from the flank of Fifth to within twenty yards of the road.
Twenty-eighth will cover a span of about fifty yards, centered on
the road. Staggered formations so that every lancer can fire. And
targeted shooting—each man in each company aiming at his
counterpart. I don't want a hundred rifles aimed on the first rank.
When the rebels come around the curve, all companies will open
fire at my command. We'll take down as many of their men as we
can until they get abreast of the trees. I'll order 'Cease, fire,' and
Fifth Company will charge through. If a second charge is
necessary, I'll call on Thirty-fifth Company. Twenty-eighth
Company is to hold the road and allow none of the enemy through.
I'll be with Fifth Company." Alucius looked from Feran to Jultyr,
then to Deotyr. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Form up as directed."

Alucius and Fifth Company continued on the road for another
hundred yards before swinging southward over the rough land that
had once been pasture, but now looked merely neglected.

"Column halt! Left oblique! Stagger spacing!" Feran called out.
"Ready rifles!"

Fifth Company re-formed swiftly into a staggered double file firing
line by companies. Alucius looked back to see that the other two
companies were also formed up as he had ordered. Then he
looked to the southeast to the point where the road curved more to
the east, just past the windbreak of thorn olives. There was no
visual sign of the rebels, although he could sense riders farther
away through his Talent.

A quarter glass passed. The feeling of the oncoming riders was
stronger, and that feeling held the vague purple overtones
detected by his Talent, but the riders had not yet appeared on the
small section of road visible from where Alucius waited on the gray
gelding.

Abruptly a pair of riders appeared at the end of the curved section
of the road, riding westward. Within moments, the forward part of a
column of maroon-uniformed lancers also came into view. Neither
of the outriders looked to the side as they rode forward.

Then, one of the riders stopped just short of the windbreak, and
the other turned and rode back toward the column.

"You think we'll need to charge them?" asked Feran, his voice low.

"They'll regroup and charge us," Alucius predicted.

Yet, for almost a tenth of a glass, nothing happened. The single
outrider remained in the middle of the road, looking straight in the
direction of Twenty-eighth Company, seemingly ignoring Fifth
Company and Thirty-fifth Company, and the column of rebel
lancers continued to ride closer, but neither faster nor more slowly,
until they were within yards of the eastern end of the thorn olive
windbreak.

Then there was a single barked command that Alucius could not
make out, and the entire column, still in two files, began to gallop
pell-mell down the road toward Twenty-eighth Company, totally
ignoring Fifth Company and Thirty-fifth Company.

"Prepare to fire!" Alucius judged the distance, waiting.

The rebels were within fifty yards of the nearest lancers in Fifth
Company when Alucius ordered, "Fire at will!"

"Fire at will!"

The command echoed down the ranks of the companies, followed
immediately by the sounds of rifles, first the heavier weapons of
Fifth Company, then the sharper sounds of the Lanachronan rifles.

At the first volley, close to twenty rebels sagged in their saddles or
toppled onto the dusty road, but the rebel column charged past
Fifth Company.

Alucius almost wanted to call off the attack as the veterans of Fifth
Company picked off rebel lancer after rebel lancer. The shots from
the Thirty-fifth and Twenty-eighth Companies rained more
destruction on those remaining.

The remaining rebels, less than a squad's worth, now unsheathing
blades, were less than a hundred yards from Twenty-eighth
Company.

"Cease fire! Cease fire! Fifth Company, charge!" Alucius slipped
his rifle into its case and drew his sabre.

The sound of rifles died away, to be replaced with the drumming
thunder of hoofs on the weary pastureland and road as Alucius led
the charge toward the depleted rebels.

He would have expected the rebel lancers in the rear ranks to have
turned as he and the lancers from Fifth Company bore down on
them from behind. Not a one did.

Alucius cut down two men from behind, his guts churning as he
did.

Within moments, not a single rebel remained mounted. One rebel,
his arm mangled, struggled to his feet and raised a blade,
staggering toward a Guard lancer looking the other way.

Crack! A single rifle shot brought the rebel down.

Alucius glanced to see Egyl holding his rifle.

Several more shots rang out, cutting down rebels who tried to bring
blades or rifles from standing or sitting positions on the road. Then
there were no more shots.

"Fifth Company! Re-form on me!" ordered Feran.

A good thirty rebel mounts milled among bodies and the Fifth
Company lancers as they moved to the southwest side of the road.

"Captain Jultyr! Set a detail to capture the rebel mounts!" Alucius
called out.

"Yes, sir. Third squad! Get those mounts and form them up behind
fifth squad."

Feran eased up beside Alucius. "One man got a shallow slash. No
other casualties."

"No casualties in Thirty-fifth Company," reported Jultyr, riding by
and supervising his third squad.

"Thank you." Alucius paused for a moment. "Well done."

As the chaos began to sort itself out, Alucius glanced from the
fallen rebels, bodies strewn everywhere, and the riderless mounts
to Captain Deotyr, who rode toward him.

"Two men killed, sir, three wounded. No captives."

"Thank you, Captain. You did well to hold there."

Neither Thirty-fifth Company nor Fifth Company had suffered any
casualties. None at all. Twenty-eighth had lost two more lancers,
and three others had taken wounds from which they should
recover. Alucius's force had been through three skirmishes, or
perhaps a small battle and two skirmishes, and he'd lost something
like ten men, with slightly more than that wounded, and they had
killed close to two hundred rebels. So why was he so worried?

Because, once again, the rebels had fought to the death? In the
heat of battle, Alucius hadn't wanted to order a capture, not when it
would have risked his own men in such an effort to capture a
fanatic.

Deotyr remained motionless, looking at Alucius.

"You're wondering why I set the companies as I did?" Alucius
asked.

"No, sir… well…" Deotyr didn't quite meet Alucius's eyes.

"There were several reasons. First, Twenty-eighth Company had
taken the most casualties before today." Alucius offered a bitter
laugh. "I put your company farther away than Thirty-fifth, with the
hope that you wouldn't suffer as many casualties. I was wrong. The
rebels seem to attack directly along the road."

"I don't think any of us would have seen that, sir."

Alucius should have, but he let that pass. "Second, Fifth Company
is more experienced, and third, your rifles have more range."

"More range?"

Alucius repressed a sigh. "Captain, your rifles are smaller bore.
They're more accurate over a longer range, and your magazines
carry twice as many cartridges. Because your men aren't as
experienced, putting them where I did equalized the rates of fire."

Deotyr nodded, and Alucius could see the understanding. The
captain turned his mount back toward Twenty-eighth Company.

Alucius surveyed the bodies on the road again. They'd need to
search them, at least quickly, and salvage ammunition and
supplies—and see if there were any written orders.

He had ridden to Hyalt thinking that he would not enter the area and
immediately start killing people. He snorted softly to himself. He
hadn't. He'd gotten near Hyalt, and the rebels or invaders or
whatever they were had started attacking his forces, leaving him no
choice but slaughter.

But why?

He had no idea, and he certainly didn't like being put in positions
where he had no choice but slaughter. Before they entered another
skirmish he needed a captive—if he could get one, somehow. He
had no doubts that there would be another skirmish or another
fight.

He looked back at the bodies once more.
Chapter 55

Octdi morning dawned with clouds and a light drizzle, barely
enough to wet the dust on the road, but enough to make the
southern late-harvest warmth feel uncomfortably muggy, at least to
Alucius, especially as he was wearing his nightsilk undergarments
as well as the nightsilk herders vest under his tunic. Despite the
moisture, the air still held the odor of wood and thornbush smoke,
acrid and penetrating.

The sentries had seen no one on the road through the night or in
the morning, but Alucius was concerned enough that he had the
companies on the road within a glass past dawn on the gray
morning. According to the maps, the road they traveled would join
another road in four to five vingts, and from Alucius's observations
and calculations, that road was probably the one that led to the
rebel camp they had surrounded with fire. The merged road turned
northeast toward Hyalt. For the first several vingts, they had seen
nothing, and the handful of steads they passed were empty. They
showed signs of having been deserted, not in the past few days,
but several weeks earlier.

Alucius considered that the whole situation was upside down. He
and his Guard companies were Lanachronan, but they were having
to act as though they were invaders in their own land, and anyone
away from the main force was definitely at risk. What was worse
was that Alucius still knew very little about why this had happened,
except that somehow the ifrits were involved. That didn't make
much sense, so far as he could determine, because Hyalt was as
far as one could get—with the possible exception of Soupat—from
other major towns and cities in Lanachrona. It wasn't on the direct
route to anywhere, such as cities like Borlan or Indyor, and even
the Regent of the Matrial couldn't have gotten to Hyalt by any major
high road directly. There were no ifrit ruins or, so far as stories
went, no rumors of a Table that might have been of use to the
ifrits—unless there was one hidden somewhere. Yet matters were
as they were, and Alucius had had few enough real choices.

What was worse was that his efforts at individual scouting had lost
him one scout, wounded another, and gotten another chased for
vingts.

On the other hand, anytime that they had encountered or found
larger numbers of rebels it had been in a fighting situation where,
when the dust had finally settled, there had been no survivors
because any living rebel would keep trying to kill lancers until the
rebel died.

Alurius turned in the saddle toward Feran. "I'd like to send Waris
out with some other lancers to see if they can scout that road up to
the rebel camp—not too far—and capture a messenger—if they
use them."

"Capture?"

"We have to get some information. There haven't been small
groups of rebels or stead holders anywhere that we've been so far.
If we can't capture a messenger, then maybe on the road toward
Hyalt we can find a stead or two with someone there and find out
something."

"Wouldn't hurt," Feran agreed, turning in the saddle. "Waris!"

Within moments, the scout had ridden forward, and Alucius had
edged the gray to the right shoulder of the road, so that the three
could ride abreast.

"The majer has a job for you," Feran said.

"Yes, sir?"

Alucius looked at Waris. "The task is simple. Accomplishing it
won't be. We need a captive lancer or armsman, one in good
enough shape to answer questions. There's a road ahead, a little
over four vingts away, and it joins this one, and then the two run to
Hyalt. The other road starts at the camp you scouted. There ought
to be messengers or some travel along there. If there are just
large parties, report back, and we'll try something else. Oh, and
pick two or three others you think can help you."

The scout looked to Feran. "Overcaptain, sir?"

"Anyone but squad leaders or wounded."

In less than a quarter glass, Waris and three other lancers had
ridden off, ahead of the main force, past the scouts and outriders
ahead of the column.

A good glass passed, and the scouts had reported nothing, and
while they had passed another five steads, all had been
abandoned in the same fashion as those they had passed earlier.
Then, the figure of Waris appeared, followed by four other mounts.
Three held riders, and the fourth had a figure strapped across a
saddle.

"Column halt!" Alucius ordered.

"Column halt," echoed back along the line of lancers.

Waris rode slowly toward Alucius, then reined up. "We got a
captive, sir."

"Was it difficult?"

"Wasn't too hard." A weary smile crossed the scouts lips. "We
ended up shooting two. This one, we shot the mount, then shot him
in the leg before he could get to his rifle. Took two of us to disarm
him, and all of us to tie him up."

Alucius wasn't surprised. Dismayed, but not surprised, as he
looked at the prisoner, slung across the saddle of the mount
behind Waris, hands tied behind his back, feet trussed together,
and a gag tied across his mouth.

"Sorry, sir. We had to tie him like that. He just tries to bite, kick,
anything…"

"Get him off the mount. Set him on the stones there." Alucius
gestured toward a rough heap of stones that once might have
been a stile across a sagging and neglected fence.

"Yes, sir."

Alucius dismounted and handed the gray's reins to Fewal, one of
his messengers, then waited as the three lancers carried the
bound captive to the stones and propped him against the bowed
middle railing of the fence.

"Did he say anything? Before you gagged him?"

"Nothing. Maybe he doesn't speak Lanachronan."

Alucius studied the captive. As he looked closely, he could Talent-
sense what resembled a fine purplish mesh net that fit the captive
like a glove. For a time, he just studied it until he could find the
purplish nodes that held it. Once he found those, it was but an
instant, and the net vanished.

The captive fainted.

"Sir…?"

"He'll be fine in a few moments. You can ungag him now."

It wasn't that long before the man looked up, an expression that
was clearly fear as he took in Alucius and the uniform that he wore.

Alucius pressed forward the feeling that the captive should be
helpful… cooperative. There was no sense of resistance. After a
moment, he asked, "Could you tell me your name?"

The man looked at Alucius, wide-eyed, then lowered his gaze.
"Escadt, sir. Of the Cadmians."

"What are the Cadmians?"

"We are. The Cadmians are the lancers of the prophet and the
True Duarchy."

"Why were you ordered to attack us?"

"You are the evil northerners. You will keep the Duarchy from
returning. All the land will die, and all our families will starve and
perish without the Duarchy."

Alucius glanced at Feran.

"Why would we do that? We're all part of Lanachrona."

"You are the lamaial of evil, the one who will use treason to destroy
all that is good."

"Who told you this?"

"The prophet Adarat. He is the servant of the True Duarchy. He
said that the man with the dark gray hair, the one who is not old, he
is the lamaial. Adarat knows what is and what will be."

Alucius had his doubts about that. "Who told Adarat this?"

"He knows. He is the servant of the True Duarchy."

That line of questioning wouldn't help, Alucius reflected. "How long
has Adarat been in Hyalt?"

"He has been here forever."

"Forever?"

The rebel shrugged. "The Temple of the Duarchy has been here
so long as any can remember, and there has always been a
prophet, and the prophet has always been Adarat."

Alucius couldn't see much point in pursuing that. "How many
camps with armed men are there around Hyalt? With Cadmians?"

"I have heard that there are two. I only know of one, myself."

"Where is the other one?"

"I do not know for sure."

"Where do you think it is?"

The rebel shrugged. "They say it is on the Hill of the Dead to the
northeast of Hyalt."

"How many companies are there?"

"I do not know."

"How many lancers were there at your camp?"

"I do not know."

"How many do you guess that there were?"

"Three hundred. That was before you northerners killed so many."

"Until you attacked us, we never attacked or fired upon you,"
Alucius pointed out. "Why did you attack us?"

"Because you are evil, and you would destroy the good of the True
Duarchy."

Alucius kept proving to himself that there was little point in following
that line of questioning. "What is in the cave in the hillside?"

"It is not a cave. It is the Temple of the True Duarchy."

"Is that where Adarat is?"

"I do not know…"

"Does it have a Table of power?"

"I do not know."

"Have you seen a Table there?"

"No, sir."

"How many people remain in Hyalt?"

"I do not know…"

Even after almost half a glass of questioning, Alucius had learned
only slightly more. The captive seemed to know very little beyond
declaring the goodness of the Duarchy to come and the evilness
of Alucius and his "northerners."

Finally, Alucius nodded to Feran. "That's all for now. Keep him tied
up, but don't gag him unless he causes trouble."

"Egyl?"

"Yes, sir. We'll take care of it."

Midmorning came and went, and they reached where the roads
joined, but saw no one and no signs of rebels. The air remained
damp and more misty than actually drizzling. None of the scouts
had seen any traces of another large body of rebels, and Alucius
decided to continue northeast on the road toward Hyalt for the next
three or fourth vingts, until they reached what the maps showed as
a narrow hill road that actually connected with the road where his
force had first camped north of Hyalt. Alucius didn't plan to take
that road all the way back, but he liked the idea of having a way out,
if necessary.

In midafternoon, the company saw the first stead that was actually
occupied, and within a quarter of a glass, Alucius was facing a
round-faced older man with unruly curly gray hair and shoulders
stooped from years of toil, a man of perhaps forty, whom the
scouts had brought in. The stead holder trembled as he stood on
the side of the road and looked at Alucius. The majer could sense
the fear pouring from the man—as well as the faintest trace of the
purplish miasma that seemed to touch all the people in Hyalt—or
all those with whom Alucius had come in contact. He dissolved the
purplish miasmatic net and tried to extend a sense of reassurance
with his Talent, but the holder shivered even more.

"Is that your stead?"

"Yes… sir."

"Is your family there?"

"Spare them, sir… I beg you, spare them."

"I have no intention of harming either you or them. I'm just trying to
find out what has happened here in Hyalt in the last month."

The holder said nothing.

"What did happen?"

"The prophet Adarat sent his disciples to disperse the lancers of
evil. They refused to leave, and they were killed."

"Did you see this?"

"That is what the prophet said, and a prophet of the True Duarchy
always tells the truth."

"What about the traders and the crafters?"

"Some of them fled. Those who would not accept the True
Duarchy, but fleeing will avail them little. Before long, all of Corus
will prosper under the return of the Duarchy."

"Why has no one left Hyalt in more than a month?"

"Why would anyone wish to leave when the True Duarchy is about
to return?" A vaguely puzzled expression crossed the man's thin
face.

"How do you know that?"

"The prophet Adarat said so. He is the servant of the True
Duarchy. He knows what is and what will be."

"Why do you fear us?"

"You are the evil northerners. You will try to keep the Duarchy from
returning. All the land will die, and all our families will starve and
perish without the Duarchy."

Alucius glanced at Feran, then back to the holder. "How do you
know this? How do you know that this Adarat tells you the truth?
Have you seen anyone besides him who would bring back the
Duarchy?"

"You are the lamaial of evil, the one who is old before his time, the
one who will use treason to destroy all that is good."

"Have you seen anything that would prove this?"

"I know what I know, and the prophet Adarat knows what is and
what will be."

Alucius tried a few more questions, but the answers were invariably
the same. Adarat was the prophet, and Adarat knew what was to
be. Finally, he looked to the lancers standing five yards away,
beside the rail fence. "Take him back to his stead. Let him go, but
make sure you take care of yourselves."

"Yes, sir."

The holder did not look back as he was led away under the low
clouds that had promised rain and delivered but an occasional
drizzle.

"Even the lancers of the Matrial weren't that bad," mused Alucius.

"Coming from you, sir," Feran replied, "that doesn't make me feel
especially good."

Alucius walked slowly to the gray, untethered his mount from the
rail fence, and remounted. He looked to Feran. "I don't think we'll
get more answers, but we ought to try a few more holders, or their
wives."

The overcaptain nodded.

Another two glasses later, after getting almost identical answers
from two holders and the widow of a third, Alucius brought his
force to a halt while he composed a message to Marshal Frynkel,
one that summarized events so far, emphasizing the fanaticism of
the rebels. Then he dispatched Hikal, along with two other lancers,
northward to the last way station, from where the dispatch riders
could take it to Tempre and the marshal. He told the three to
remain at the way station until the force returned or until he sent
orders, since he had no idea where his force might be in a few
days.

Then, after seeing the three off, he ordered his force westward
and then northwest, along the road he had mapped out earlier.

Feran, riding beside Alucius, cleared his throat.

Alucius turned in the saddle.

"I have bad feelings about this," Feran said slowly. "Especially
when you send off messengers like that."

"That makes two of us." Alucius looked down the road, angling
northwest away from Hyalt. "We'll avoid Hyalt itself for now. Then
we'll find another hilltop campsite for tonight. Tomorrow, we'll
locate the other rebel camp." Alucius couldn't bring himself to call
them Cadmians, no matter what they called themselves. "Then,
we'll see what we can work out to get rid of them both. I want to
find out about the other camp or camps first, but I'd like to take
down the Temple of the True Duarchy, and this Adarat, before we
even try to deal with the town."

Feran nodded. "That makes sense."

It made sense to Alucius as well, but whether it was the right tactic
was another question.
Chapter 56

In the warm, damp, and dark air, Alucius was stretched out on his
bedroll, not under it. He was tired, but not sleepy. Or not sleepy
enough to drift off when lying on relatively hard ground. The cedar-
and juniper-branch ends under the bedroll helped, but not really
enough, not with all the thoughts going through his head.

Setting up another camp hadn't been that difficult, and the hilltop
was more defensible than the others from which he had to choose.
That was good and necessary, given that they were in the hills less
than ten vingts to the west-southwest of Hyalt, although the hillsides
were rocky and rugged. Yet, after encountering the one
messenger patrol, they had seen no more rebels, and he had
sensed nearby none of the purple-linked Talent he had felt from
the rebel encampment to the north and west.

Adarat had to be an ifrit, or strongly influenced or linked to them.
Could ifrits be killed with Talent-darkened bullets, the way the
Talent-creatures could be? Or could they only be destroyed in the
way he had killed the Recorder and the engineer, through direct
use of Talent energy from Alucius himself? Should he just attack
the first camp? Or should he finish finding out what he could about
all the camps and rebels? Why were the ifrits trying to establish a
foothold in Hyalt? What role did the Regent of the Matrial play?
How many more of the Talent-influenced lancers were there? What
had really happened in Hyalt so that no one left? What was it about
whatever Talent Adarat had used that left the rebels and stead
holders still believing in the True Duarchy? Did that kind of Talent-
use change what people believed forever?

The questions going through his mind seemed endless, and then
he thought about Wendra. She had to be fine; the wristguard would
have let him know if she were not.

Finally, forcing himself to recognize that he had answers for neither
worries nor questions that evening, he closed his eyes.

His sleep was restless.

"Sir?"

"What?" Alucius shook his head, then sat up in his bedroll. He
couldn't have slept that long. He looked through the darkness at the
face of the lancer standing a yard away, his herder's nightsight
telling him that the sentry was Noer. "What is it?"

"The prisoner killed himself."

"How?" Alucius stiffened. "He was still tied up, wasn't he?"

The young lancer grimaced. "Yes, sir. Hands behind his back.
Guess he found a rock with a sharp edge. Just kept sawing at his
wrists when no one was looking. Blood everywhere. Never made a
sound. Don't know how he did it."

Alucius shivered. How on earth could a man do that? Why on
earth? Because he still believed in the prophet? Or because he
realized that he'd been deceived and had lost everything?
Chapter 57

Alucius didn't feel as though he'd slept at all when he finally rose
before dawn on Novdi morning. He'd had the wall dream again, with
the same ifritlike stone walls closing in on him, with no doors and
windows. Once more, he'd awakened in the middle of the night,
sweating, and it had taken him a while to cool off and get back to
sleep—and to push away the sense of being walled in by his own
actions. Now, every part of his body felt stiff and sore, or so it
seemed as he rose and stretched, his eyes taking in the campsite,
where most lancers still slumbered.

He looked up. The clouds and drizzle of the previous day had been
replaced with a thin fog, but he could see a clear sky above the
low-lying whiteness that drifted in patches around and over the
hilltop camp. He had barely gotten himself together when a call
echoed through the white-fogged gray of the moments before
dawn.

"Rebels on the road!"

"Companies form up! In ranks! On foot!" Alucius bellowed. "South
facing!"

He found Feran less than ten yards away. "Have Fifth Company
take the center. Put them in kneeling or prone positions. We'll take
fewer shots that way."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius could tell Feran agreed with that, and he merely added, "I'll
try to find Deotyr and Jultyr. If you see them first, convey my
orders."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius found both captains heading toward him, and he relayed
the same orders, ending with, "Twenty-eighth Company take the
west flank, Thirty-fifth the east. And tell your men to keep down and
make every shot count."

"Yes, sir."

As the three companies formed up, Alucius took a position in the
center of the formation that followed the curve of the hill. He had
both his rifles with him and his ammunition belt.

For almost a quarter of a glass, there were no sounds from the
road. Then, a handful of shots echoed through the thin fog. Alucius
heard a bullet smash into a juniper slightly uphill and five yards to
his right. He couldn't say that he was surprised that the rebels were
trying to use the fog as cover for an attack, but he didn't
understand the comparatively few shots being fired. His Talent-
senses indicated that at least a company of rebels was moving
uphill through the fog, still mounted, but the fog was thicker along
the lower-lying road, and while Alucius could sense the attackers,
he could not see them. He was just thankful that he had ordered
the sentries be stationed even farther away from the campsite than
he had in the past.

He wondered. Were other rebels sneaking up on other sides of the
campsite?

His Talent-senses showed nothing, except for the force moving
uphill toward them. He held his first rifle ready, because his ears
could hear the sounds of hoofs on soil below, seemingly magnified
by the fog.

"Prepare to fire!" he ordered.

"Prepare to fire!"

Less than fifty yards below him, the first maroon-clad lancer trotted
his mount out of the patchy fog, in a place where the whiteness had
thinned.

"Fire at will!"

Alucius squeezed off his first shot, and the lancer dropped,
knocked from his saddle by the force of the bullet from the
herder's heavy rifle.

Along the line, there were other scattered shots, but not many, and
then, for another quarter glass, there was comparative silence
across the hillside. Alucius could sense the rebels below, holding a
rough line in a fog that was slowly thinning under a sun that had
finally risen. After taking the lull as a chance to reload, Alucius
looked skyward. Above, he could see patches of silver-green sky,
patches that were becoming more frequent.

Alucius sensed movement below.

"Prepare to fire!" The command was unnecessary, technically, but
he used it as a warning.

"Prepare to fire!" The echoes of the officers' repetitions had barely
died away when rebel lancers and their mounts burst out of the fog
below. Most did not seem to be using rifles, but charged uphill
swinging blades of various lengths.

The rifles of the defenders cracked and even thundered, and rebel
after rebel went down, as did many of the mounts. Alucius fired
methodically, going through the first rifle, then the second. The
attackers thinned. He reloaded one rifle quickly and barely
managed to get off two shots at near-point-blank range at a rebel
who was less than ten yards away. Somewhere below, a man was
moaning, and to the west a horse screamed. At least, it sounded
like a wounded horse.

Alucius swallowed. He waited, and kept waiting, but not another
rebel lancer appeared.

Slowly, he used his Talent to scan the hillside. He could sense
some badly wounded figures, but none mounted.

"Hold your positions!" he ordered.

The time passed, and the fog continued to thin rapidly until, a half a
glass later, only wisps remained, not enough to conceal the
carnage of fallen men and mounts below.

"Fifth Company, take cover and advance! Five yards at a time!"

He knew the caution was not necessary, but there was no other
way to convey to the lancers that the hillside contained no further
danger.

A glass later, Alucius was checking the gray and his gear, ready to
mount. He heard a mount approaching and turned.

Egyl reined up short of Alucius, followed by Feran.

"Yes, Egyl?"

"We did a quick search of the bodies, sir, like you ordered."

"What did you find?"

"Sir… a lot of those lancers were either barely more than boys or
they were graybeards. Most of them didn't have rifles, and the
blades were mostly old and of all sorts. Their tunics hardly
matched, up close."

"The rebels in the other attacks weren't like that, were they?" asked
Alucius, although he already knew the answer. No, sir.

"You think this was some sort of feint?"

Egyl glanced downhill. "Don't know what to think, sir."

"Thank you," Alucius said. "We'll be leaving shortly."

"Yes, sir. I'll tell the men."

Feran remained, waiting until Egyl had ridden out of easy earshot.
"Do you think we've worn them down to that few?"

"No, but I couldn't say why," Alucius admitted. "They were sent
against us for a reason, but I can't figure out why. What worries me
most about this prophet is that he's willing to have hundreds of
lancers slaughtered for whatever his goals are. Anyone who does
that…"

"Maybe that is his goal," Feran suggested.

"To have us create so much carnage that it undermines the Lord-
Protectors rule?"

"Can you think of another reason?"

The only ones Alucius could think of were even worse. "We'd
better get moving."

Nothing was going the way he'd thought it might, and yet… what
else could he have done? Even rusty blades and the few
mismatched rifles would have killed all too many of his lancers had
he done nothing. And retreating without fighting would have
undermined the Lord-Protector's rule and authority even more than
the carnage Alucius found himself creating.
Chapter 58
Salaan, Lanachrona

Tarolt ana the angular Recorder sat on opposite sides of the
circular table. A pitcher of clear liquid rested on a silver tray halfway
between them.

The Recorder took a sip of the liquid, setting down the crystal
goblet. "I miss Efra. Even more than the towers against the golden
sky, or the perfumes of summer, I miss the food. It was an art in
itself, firetails marinated in the liqueurs of Serela and stuffed with
dauflin, grilled to perfection so that each bite melted…"

"There is much to miss… but even more that will vanish if we do
not succeed. As always, we must create a new and greater Efra."

The Recorder nodded somberly.

"What does the Table show of the events in Hyalt, Trezun?" asked
Tarolt, after a silence.

Trezun fingered the base of the goblet, purple eyes burning out of
his pale white face. "Adarat has taken the shadow most
successfully… or, I should say, the shadow has taken him most
successfully. He has maneuvered the majer into an impossible
position, and one in which, even if Majer Alucius succeeds in
subduing the 'revolt,' the Lord-Protector's authority will be
undermined greatly, and he will be regarded as a barbarous
butcher."

"Or he will be condemned all across Corus for having unleashed
the butcher of the north on the hapless steers of Hyalt." Tarolt
laughed. "Even those worthless steers will play their part."

"This Alucius is far better than you think, as an arms-commander,
Tarolt," observed the Recorder. "He could be back in Dekhron
before spring, and that would not be for the best. The grid will not
be fully ready by then, and we cannot accept mass translations
without a fully powered grid. Waleryn is having to proceed more
slowly with the Praetor, and that will delay the next translation."

"He is proceeding, is he not?"

"His work is going well, if not quite so quickly as we had planned."

"It never does, not when one must deal with steers. Even
translated Talent-steers are often less than satisfactory."

"How is Halanat?" asked Trezun.

"He is better than many, and his trading has provided the golds we
need." Tarolt paused and took a swallow from his own goblet. "We
might be able to make other matters work for us. The Regent of
the Matrial is likely to break through the lancers of the Lord-
Protector. She will hold Southgate by the turn of the new year, if not
within weeks. What if she sends that troublesome Marshal Aluyn
against Tempre with one of the crystal spear-throwers?"

"You think that the Lord-Protector would send Majer Alucius against
the spear-thrower?"

"If Wyerl is dead, what will Marshal Frynkel recommend? What
other choices will he have, if he must save Tempre?" Tarolt's white
eyebrows rose. "Or to hold Southgate, if the Regent is less
successful."

"I will see what we can do with the sub-crystal to plant those
thoughts." The Recorder paused. "I still cannot determine what
created it, but we can use it as though it were a Table."

"That is secondary to its use… for now. You have some time."

"The Regent is already mostly ours, and the idea makes sense.
The Lord-Protector will always threaten her. The Matrial did not
attack, and look what happened to her. The Regent will see that
kind of reason."

"As do all the steers, she will accept what is plausible," said Tarolt.
"Especially if it fits her inner desires. That is always the key to
persuasion and manipulation—plausible appeal to desire."

The Recorder's fingers touched the base of his goblet, but his
eyes were a world away.
Chapter 59

It was just past midafternoon on a cooler and hazy Decdi when
Twenty-eighth Company, leading the column, turned onto the
eternastone road that would take the entire force two days
northward to the manned way station. Once there, Alucius wanted
his lancers—and their mounts—to get some rest. He also wanted
to see if there was any information on what else was happening in
Lanachrona.

He'd managed to get a few more reports on the town of Hyalt and
the other camp from the scouts—without losing any more. Waris
had reported that the town appeared half deserted, and Rakalt had
confirmed that a second camp did exist northeast of Hyalt, with
stables and barracks for three or four companies.

Even after going over the reports with the scouts, Alucius had very
mixed feelings about moving away from Hyalt. Part of him said that
he should have just plowed in and attacked the two camps, and
part of him worried that he knew too little. The first part of the
campaign had certainly not been a failure. The three companies
had effectively killed almost four rebel horse companies, reduced
the natural defenses of the major enemy staging camp, and
determined the bases of the forces opposing him, with relatively
light losses—except in terms of ammunition. In the end,
ammunition had been the deciding factor. While he had enough for
a few more fights, he doubted he had cartridges sufficient for
attacks on both rebel camps. For that reason, he'd also finally sent
a second messenger ahead, directly to Tempre, to request more
ammunition, along with a more complete report on events to date
and on the general situation in the Hyalt area—or what he and the
scouts had been able to observe.

He'd also come away with close to fifty spare mounts, some of
which were so poor as to be useless, but perhaps those could be
sold for other purposes.

He still fretted about the last rebel attack and the use of boys and
graybeards. Was it a diversion, or had it been designed, as Feran
had suggested, to destroy support for the Lord-Protector? Or for
something else that he had not even thought about? His lips
tightened. However it had been meant, the result had been to make
his task harder, because the killing of boys and old men would
create more resentment and anger against the Lord-Protector.
What also worried him was that there was even more behind that
strategy.

Neither Alucius nor Deotyr said much for a good half glass after
they started directly north. The lands on both sides of the road
might once have been meadows or pastures, but they had long
been untended and held a preponderance of thornbushes, with
only scattered areas of true grasslands. Then, Alucius reflected,
the area around Hyalt seemed partial to thornbushes.

"How long will we be at the way station, sir?" asked Deotyr finally.

"Four days—that's what I'd planned on, but that depends on how
soon we get the ammunition."

"We had a wagon full of it, sir, didn't we?"

"We did, but about half of that was for Fifth Company, because the
larger cartridges are hard to get in lower Lanachrona. We wouldn't
have enough for an attack on the rebel camps, not if they send
lancers at us the way they have."

"It's almost a slaughter, the way they attack," mused Deotyr.

"Only so long as we have bullets and space between us," Alucius
said dryly. "With their numbers, a more equal fight wouldn't be
something you'd look forward to, would you?"

"Ah… no, sir."

"Majer!" The shout came from a lancer riding along the side of the
high road from the rear.

"Here!" Alucius gestured, although it should have been
unnecessary, since, while heading Twenty-eighth Company, he
was the only rider in the black and blue of the Northern Guard.

The lancer was Skant, and he eased his mount beside Alucius.
"There's lancers moving up on us from the south, really pushing
their mounts. They're less than half a vingt back. Overcaptain Feran
wants to know if he should engage."

Alucius did not reply, but glanced northward. Perhaps three-
quarters of a vingt ahead, the road passed through a stone-walled
cut in a low rise that ran east and west in both directions so far as
he could see. He strained to sense what might lie ahead. Was
there a sense of a vague purpleness? He glanced at the road cut,
then stood in the stirrups and half turned to look back southward.
There were no hills or obstructions to vision on either side of the
road to the south—except the knee-high to waist-high thornbushes
that were even thicker than they had been farther south. His
nightsheep could have taken care of those—although it wouldn't
have done their wool any good.

Alucius settled back into the saddle, looking at Skant. "Tell the
overcaptain that we'll ride on about another half vingt and halt the
column. Have him move the wagons to the middle of the column.
I'll have Thirty-fifth Company move out beyond the road to provide
additional fire. He's to engage as he sees fit once we halt. I'll hold
Twenty-eighth Company in reserve."

An expression of concern and puzzlement crossed Deotyr's face,
but the captain said nothing.

"Half a vingt and we halt," said Skant. "Wagons to the middle. He
can engage, and Thirty-fifth will move out to the flanks with
covering fire."

"That's right, Skant."

"Yes, sir." The lancer turned his mount and rode back along the
shoulder.

After a moment, Deotyr spoke. "Sir?"

"Why did I only offer Thirty-fifth as covering fire? Look ahead. See
that rise? Don't you think it's strange that we're being attacked from
the south as we near that?"

"You think they'll attack from the north as well?"

"I don't know. If they don't, there will be time to pull Twenty-eighth
out, but once a company's off the road here, with all that thorn, it
takes time to re-form, especially if the rebels come charging down
the road. But if I don't send Thirty-fifth off road and out, they don't
have any angle to provide covering fire."

Deotyr nodded.

After riding back and providing Jultyr with detailed instructions,
Alucius hurried back northward to rejoin Deotyr and Twenty-eighth
Company. He kept studying the road, both to the north and south.
Before long he could sense riders on both sections, but only about
a company in each direction. Again, that didn't seem to make much
sense, but Adarat or whoever was commanding might be thinking
that the surprise of a rear attack would be sufficient. Like
everything else in Hyalt, the situation bothered Alucius.

The three Lanachronan companies covered the thousand yards,
and the rebels to the north remained concealed. Alucius waited
longer, another three hundred yards, until the column reached a
point where the ground beyond the road on each side formed an
almost imperceptible rise that was mostly clear of the thornbush.

"Column, halt!" Alucius ordered. "Thirty-fifth Company! To the
flanks!" He turned to Deotyr. "Captain. Have Twenty-eighth form
into a staggered front from five yards out from the shoulder of the
road on one side to five on the other side. If you get a rebel attack,
don't open fire until they're within a hundred yards unless they're
moving at gallop. In that case, you'd better start firing at a hundred
and fifty yards. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm moving back to the center so that I can see what's happening
on both sides."

"Yes, sir."

Not without misgivings, Alucius moved back toward the middle of
the formation until he was within yards of Jultyr and to the slightly
higher ground beyond the east shoulder of the road, trying to see
and sense what was happening both to the north and the south.

Feran spread Fifth Company and waited until the rebels were within
a hundred yards. Then Fifth Company opened fire. Although he
could not see them, Alucius could feel the waves of death and the
purple miasma that dissolved with each death. He could also
sense the rebel forces to the north, moving southward into the
shadows of the road cut ahead, as well as several wagons. The
wagons bothered him, but he couldn't determine why or what they
contained.

"Rebels to the north!" The call echoed from one of Twenty-eighth
Company's outriders, galloping southward. "They're forming up on
the road."

"Twenty-eighth Company, hold!" came Deotyr's command. "Rifles
ready. Prepare to fire."

Alucius half nodded. He noted that the northern force of rebels was
still a good four hundred yards away. Then he turned his Talent to
the south once more.

This time the rebels attacking Fifth Company did not continue to
charge blindly forward. After the shock of the first volleys shredded
through their ranks, they turned their mounts and rode off the road,
half east and half west. That worried Alucius, especially when he
saw that they were re-forming two hundred yards away. He turned
the gray and shifted his study to the north, where the oncoming
maroon-clad rebels were less than two hundred yards out from
Twenty-eighth Company.

From the north, it seemed, a burst of crimson emptiness flashed
over Alucius, along with a momentary, but intense, chill. He forced
himself to infuse the shells in his rifles with darkness, even as he
had the first rifle out of the holder, his eyes scanning the skies and
the land beyond the road. He forced himself to ignore what
happened to the north—at least for the moment.

A wild pteridon appeared some seventy yards to the southwest,
almost a hundred yards into the sky. Alucius could tell that it was
about to dive directly at him, even before it half folded its wings.

He concentrated on the pteridon, squeezing off one shot, then a
second.

A ball of blue flame exploded from where the Talent-creature had
been and plummeted into a thornbush, which exploded in flame.

Alucius turned, catching sight of something else, a single horned
sandox lumbering toward the eastern flank of Jultyr's lancers.

It took Alucius a single shot, but the creature had appeared so
close to the last of the lancers that the bluish flames surged over
the outermost lancer, enveloping him in flames. His screams were
brief, but Alucius shuddered. He continued to search for more of
the Talent-creatures even as he heard Deotyr's command.

"Twenty-eighth Company! Fire at will!"

The cracks of shots from north and south echoed around Alucius
as he searched for another Talent-creature, and he almost missed
the pteridon coming in from the north.

"Look out!" someone yelled.

He twisted in the saddle and used the last two shots in the first rifle
to hit the pteridon, but once more the bluish firebolt resulting from
his successful shot flared downward, barreling into the chest of a
lancer's mount. The man, quick of thought, jumped clear, but the
horse's scream was agonizing.

His second rifle out, Alucius scanned land and sky, but the crimson
emptiness, that legacy of the Duarches, was gone.

The rebel company from the north continued to ride southward,
lancers falling to the fire of Deotyr's men, until the rebels were less
than thirty yards from Twenty-eighth Company. Abruptly, at that
moment, a single long trumpet blast came from somewhere. The
single note wavered but held. As one, the rebel lancers who had
attacked from the north threw down their rifles, turned their mounts,
and galloped back along the eternastone road, back to the north.

"After them!" ordered Deotyr.

Alucius wheeled the gray as Twenty-eighth Company rode in
pursuit of the fleeing rebels. Should he countermand the order?
How?

From the slight ridge on the side of the road, Alucius looked
northward, watching as Twenty-eighth Company closed on the
rebels, feeling that something was not right.

Why were they fleeing, when they had never done so before?

The rebels neared the road cut made by the ancient road through
the low rolling hill. There, Alucius saw a low line of what appeared
to be packed clay that ran from one side of the road to the other,
and the road behind the clay appeared to be shiny. Something
splashed from the hoofs of the mounts of the retreating rebel
riders.

At that instant, he knew. He forced himself to ignore the bullets
from the south, and concentrated on extending a thin golden green
line of fire northward, toward the liquid in the road cut. His thinnest
of lines of Talent-fire touched the liquid held behind the miniature
dikes at the same moment that the leading riders of Twenty-eighth
Company crossed the first one.

Whhhssst! A flare of flame erupted from the eternastones, bathing
at least half the rebels in flames, turning them and their mounts into
living torches. The first three or four ranks of Twenty-eighth
Company's first squad also flared into flame.

Alucius's guts twisted. But there was little more he could do, not
after Deotyr had ordered the charge.

He twisted in the saddle, looking south, but with the fiery gout to the
north, the remaining rebels turned their mounts and fled, pell-mell,
south.

"Fifth Company! Thirty-fifth Company! Re-form! Forward!" Alucius
urged the gray forward and onto the road, riding northward quickly.

Deotyr had re-formed Twenty-eighth Company, well back from the
wall of flame.

The few remaining rebel lancers rode eastward along the ridge.
They were already a vingt away when Alucius neared Twenty-
eighth Company. His Talent sensed no one nearby besides his
own force—no one living. Both a single glance and his senses told
him that there was enough of the oil or whatever it was to turn the
dead mounts and men into little more than ashes, and the fire
might well continue for at least a glass.

He could feel his entire body beginning to shake, and his eyesight
blurring. He forced himself to steady his hands as he fumbled out
the water bottle and drank, then unwrapped some travel bread for a
quick bite. What else could he have done? He didn't know any way
to have stopped the conflagration, and if he'd simply waited, he
might have lost all of Twenty-eighth Company. Why hadn't he seen
what was coming more clearly?

He shook his head. He'd known something was wrong. He never
would have ordered the charge, but, as Feran had said, he couldn't
be everywhere. No one else could have dealt with the pteridons.

His hands were still shaking as he took another bite of travel bread.
Was his shakiness his reaction to the flame trap? Or was it
overuse of Talent? Had he used that much Talent? He decided
that it had taken more effort than he had realized to extend his
Talent to fire the oil or whatever had been used to create the
deadly flames. But his decision to use Talent still troubled him,
much as he could see no other alternative.

By the time he finally reached Twenty-eighth Company, the blurred
vision and the shaking had subsided. Alucius kept his face
impassive as he reined up close to Deotyr.

The captain's countenance was ashen.

"Captain?" Yes, sir…

"Casualties?"

"Twelve men dead, sir, three others burned, two wounded."

Before Deotyr could say any more, Alucius spoke. "I don't recall
ordering a charge. But what is done is done. We'll talk about it
later." Alucius dared not say more, not with the rage seething
inside him at Deotyr's stupidity.

"Yes, sir."

"Finish forming up. We'll have to circle the road cut on the west.
We'll probably have trouble with the wagons. Pick a detail to help
with them." Alucius glanced at the low flames still flickering from
the road cut ahead. He could feel the heat. As he turned to head
back to check with Jultyr and Feran, he just wished he could turn
away from the stench of burned flesh.

Alucius rode back southward, both to meet with Jultyr and to avoid
saying anything he would later regret.

As Alucius neared the older captain, Jultyr studied Alucius's face
before speaking. For a moment, Jultyr did not speak. Then he
said, "One man dead, sir. One man wounded, sir. Looks to
recover."

"Thank you. You handled your company well, Captain."

"Thank you, sir."

"Majer!" called another voice—that of Feran.

Alucius turned his mount and waited for Feran to join them.

"Just two men wounded. One took a shot to the shoulder," Feran
reported. "The other took a bullet in the calf."

"Fifth Company did well," Alucius said. "As always." He could feel
some of the anger subsiding. "Twenty-eighth Company lost twelve
men, had five wounded." His words came out flat.

"Lucky that the rebels set that fire too early," observed Jultyr.

"They probably didn't plan it that way." Feran looked hard at
Alucius.

Alucius knew Feran understood, and he merely replied, "I wish
they'd been even earlier. Twenty-eighth's first squad didn't deserve
that."

"Captain Deotyr? " asked Feran.

"He may have gotten singed, but he was just far enough back."

"What was that stuff? Do you know, sir?" asked Jultyr.

"Some kind of oil, maybe the kind that you can find in pitch ponds.
It was dark and shiny, but not too thick. Their mounts splashed
some of it before it caught fire." Alucius gestured to the road
ahead and the low rise. "We'll have to ride around. I told Captain
Deotyr to form a detail to help with the wagons."

"Ah… the men… ?"

"It's still burning. There won't be anything left but ashes. There's
not much we can do."

Jultyr shook his head. "What a horrible… way to go."

Alucius agreed, but he wasn't sure that any way to die was good,
notwithstanding all the legends of glorious heroism. Dead was
dead.
Chapter 60

In the dim light of early evening, Alucius and Deotyr stood at the
edge of the camp, little more than rows of lancers and bedrolls on
a low rise twenty-some vingts north of Hyalt and less than half a
vingt to the west of the high road. All the campsite had to
recommend itself was a creek with cold and clear water that ran
along the bottom of the swale to the north of the rise, and the slight
elevation of the low hill—and the fact that men and mounts needed
the rest and that there had been nothing better in vingts.

In the eastern sky, halfway to the zenith, was the small green disc
of Asterta. That the moon of misery shone down on Deotyr and
Alurius was entirely appropriate, although the dark-haired young
captain was obviously unaware of that coincidence as he shifted
his weight from one boot to the other.

"I said that we would discuss the events of the afternoon later. I did
not say that we would dismiss them." Alucius kept his voice mild.
"Why did you order the charge? "

"They had thrown down their rifles, and they were retreating in
disorder, sir. It seemed like the best tactic."

"Did I tell you to engage them?"

"No, sir."

"Did you hear me relay orders to Overcaptain Feran granting him
the leeway to engage the rebels?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did I give you similar orders?"

"Ah… no, sir."

"But I didn't forbid you to order a charge, either," Alucius pointed
out. "That's the first lesson, Captain. Discretion always rests with
the company commander, but so does responsibility for the use of
that discretion. If you choose to ignore orders, and there may be a
very few times that you should, or if you decide to take an initiative,
you should have a very good reason for doing so. You should have
a definite plan for what you intend to do, and you should
understand the situation in which you find yourself." Alucius paused
only briefly. "Explain to me why you thought charging this particular
fleeing enemy was a good tactic."

There was a long silence.

"Come, Captain… if you did not have a good reason when you
ordered the charge, and if you cannot come up with a good reason
after having thought about it all afternoon… why exactly did you
give that order?"

"I just… well, sir, it felt like the thing to do. I can't explain why."

Alucius nodded slowly. "I've done that myself. But there's a
problem with that. If you can't explain why you did what you did,
even afterward, then you didn't have a good reason. Now…
consider this. We've fought the rebels a number of times. Before
this afternoon, have they ever retreated?"

"No, sir."

"Did you ask yourself why they were retreating? They didn't just
turn and break. They turned just before reaching the company, and
they were ordered to retreat by the sound of a horn. That signal
alone should have told you that the action was planned."

"Did you see that, sir?"

"As soon as I heard that horn signal, I knew that whatever they
were doing was planned, but I was too far away to countermand
your orders, Captain. I thought that trying to do so from a distance
could have created even greater confusion and left the company
scattered and even more vulnerable." Alucius let the silence drag
out for a time. "You were extremely fortunate to have lost only
twelve men. Had they set that oil on fire a few moments later, most
of Twenty-eighth Company would have died." Alucius did not
hammer home the point that Deotyr would have been among the
dead. Nor did he voice his own regrets that his own options had
been constricted by his own limitations. "You need to know what
your own company can do. You also have to be aware of what your
enemy has done, what he can do, and what he might do."

"Yes, sir." Deotyr's look at Alucius was almost accusing, as if
Alucius were responsible.

Alucius was responsible. He hadn't given Deotyr clear enough
orders, or orders that could not have been misunderstood. Yet, in
one respect, he shouldn't have had to give such orders. In another,
he should have known that Deotyr was too inexperienced. But it
was better not to say that. And, in the end, for whatever happened
Alucius would be the one held responsible.

"Captain. I could have given you orders to stand fast no matter
what happened. And what would have happened if another
company of rebels had appeared? Or if one of those pteridons
had crashed into the ammunition wagon and set it on fire? Every
order is a balance. If I make the order too firm, that can be as
deadly as making it too general."

"Pteridons?"

"The Fifth and Thirty-fifth Companies were attacked by them, along
with the rebels. That's why I moved southward. When they're fatally
wounded, they explode in nasty bluish flames. You might ask Jultyr
about them. Fifth and Thirty-fifth Companies had as many
casualties from them as from the rebel lancers."

Alucius still had no idea why the pteridons had appeared when they
did, or why there had been so few that afternoon, compared to the
larger numbers on the previous occasions. He wished he knew if
other forces or herders had been attacked, but he had an uneasy
feeling that there had been few, if any, such attacks where he—or
perhaps Wendra—had not been present. But he had a hard time
believing that someone would send such beasts after someone as
insignificant as he was.

Deotyr frowned.

Alucius wrenched his thoughts away from the Talent-creatures and
spoke slowly. "We all have to learn, and we all learn different
lessons, and sometimes the only way to learn is painful." That he
knew all too well. "You'll remember this. It might be difficult to
forget it. Just get into the habit of asking yourself why the enemy is
doing something. Or why I do things the way I do. And you can ask
me afterward why I did it. You learn from this, and you'll be a better
officer. Every good lancer force rests on the quality of its officers,
and quality comes from training and learning and improving."
Alucius offered a smile, one he hoped was both encouraging and
slightly sad. "Neither one of us can undo what's been done. We
can only learn from it and go on."

Against the whispers and murmurs of the conversations of the
camp, almost like a harvest wind, Deotyr was silent for a time
before speaking. "Sir… is all… I mean… the rebels…"

Alucius laughed gently. "I've never seen anything like this. Most
other forces I've fought against have much more able lancers, but
you could stop them. These rebels will keep riding until they're
dead in the saddle. It's the first time we've gotten low on
ammunition with so few casualties, but that's why we're moving
back to resupply. Without more ammunition, we can't mount an
attack on their bases."

After the afternoon's attack, Alucius was even more convinced of
the necessity of that resupply—and it wouldn't hurt for him to
rethink things once more. He almost laughed out loud at his
caution. Did command do that to once-impetuous young officers?
Chapter 61
Tempre, Lanachrona

The gray morning light did little to brighten the Lord-Protector's
study or the faces of the three men seated within it.

Marshal Alyniat sat at one corner of the dark oak table desk, the
fingers of his left hand quietly drumming on the wood, while Frynkel
sat at the other corner. A single dispatch lay on the polished
desktop where the Lord-Protector had set it.

"Majer Alucius has been in the Hyalt area perhaps a week," the
Lord-Protector said slowly. "He has destroyed four companies of
rebel lancers with minimal losses, except ammunition, and that is to
be expected."

"That is what he reports," acknowledged Alyniat. "He has sent two
dispatches."

"If that is what he reports," replied the Lord-Protector coolly, "then
that is what has happened. Unlike some officers' reports, his I can
trust. That presents another question."

The two marshals waited.

"Exactly how did this prophet Adarat manage to create two military
camps and arm and uniform more than four companies without the
Southern Guard even noticing it until the local garrison was
overcome and killed?"

"If we knew the answer to that, Lord-Protector," replied Alyniat
deferentially, "it would not have happened."

"However it happened, I have lost. The question is only how much.
If the majer can destroy this prophet and his followers, I lose only
my respect, the gratitude of many subjects, and I will gain a
reputation not as a just ruler, but one to be feared. I do not think I
need to spell out what I will lose if he fails."

Neither marshal spoke for a moment.

After the silence had drawn out for a time, Frynkel finally replied,
"In these times, it is not entirely without benefit to be a ruler to be
feared."

"That is true," Talryn stated. "But is it to the credit of the Southern
Guard that it takes a herder majer from the north to accomplish
even that?"

Another silence filled the room.

"Get him the ammunition, and send it on the way by noon, even if
you have to strip every arsenal and company in Tempre." The
Lord-Protector paused before asking, "How fares the defense of
Southgate?"

"The latest reports say that the defenses are firm, and that Marshal
Wyerl has pushed the Matrites back north of Zalt. There have been
no changes in the positions of forces between Fola and
Southgate. That is acceptable, under the circumstances." Alyniat
glanced at Frynkel.

"The last company from Borlan is between Krost and here, and will
join the companies released from Indyor. That will provide four
more companies of lancers that could be used against the Regent
as necessary."

"And the training?"

"There are lancers enough to fill four companies in training at
Krost. They have just begun, and we will lose a quarter of them in
training. They will not be prepared to fight until spring," Frynkel
replied. "We should have less trouble at Krost, now."

"For which, again, you can thank the majer. Perhaps, if he
succeeds in Hyalt, I should make him a marshal."

The faintest hint of a wince crossed Alyniat's face, and the
subdued finger drumming ceased.

"Oh… don't worry about that," Talryn said wryly. "He's too smart to
accept it, and if I offered it, I'd end up losing half my officers within
a year. That, too, is a sorry state of affairs." He glanced at Alyniat,
and added, "Especially under the circumstances, Marshal Alyniat. I
trust you two will continue to work to remedy those circumstances."

Alyniat's face stiffened slightly at the Lord-Protector's use of the
phrase "under the circumstances." Then, he replied, "Yes, sir."

"That's all. One of you send me a messenger confirming that the
ammunition is on the way."

"Yes, sir."

The Lord-Protector rose.

So did the marshals, bowing, then departing the study.
Chapter 62

In the glow of the oil lamp set in a bronze wall bracket, the five
officers sat around the single table in what passed for the officers'
mess in the Ceazan way station. Four were from Alucius's force.
The fifth was Korow, the gray-bearded undercaptain in charge of
the station. His pale green eyes moved slowly from officer to
officer, but kept returning to the gray-haired and young-faced
Alucius.

Alucius took a long swallow of water from the chipped crockery
mug. "We'll give the men another two days to rest and check gear."
The men didn't need the rest so much as the mounts did, but both
men and mounts could stand the time away from the strangeness
around Hyalt. He also would leave the more seriously wounded,
such as Elbard, to recover at the way station.

"You haven't said much, sir," offered Jultyr. "Not about what's
happened in Hyalt."

"That's true. I haven't." Alucius paused. "I'd like your thoughts first.
Then, I'll say what I think."

A faint smile crossed Feran's lips, and Alucius knew that was
because Alucius had never been known for being reticent among
other officers.

No one spoke for a time.

Then Feran cleared his throat. "Something's happening. It didn't
start when we rode into Hyalt. It didn't even start when we left
Dekhron. There were pteridons when we fought the nomads in
Deforya. That was more than three years ago. The Matrial started
using the crystal spear-thrower before that. This revolt… whatever
it is… is part of it. These rebels don't act like any lancers I ever
saw anywhere." The overcaptain shrugged. "That's all."

After another silence, Alucius looked to Jultyr.

"Don't know what to say, sir. Never seen anything like it. Couldn't
say where any of them came from. They don't look or act like any
folk from Lanachrona, and I've served in almost every post in the
land."

"Captain Deotyr?" Alucius prompted.

The dark-haired young officer moistened his lips.

Alucius waited.

"Sir… where are they getting all the lancers? We… well… the
Lord-Protector has trouble raising enough from all across
Lanachrona, and we must have killed… what… five companies'
worth, and they still have more…" Deotyr's words trailed off.

"That's a very good question," Alucius replied. "I have an idea, but
we won't know until we finish what we were sent to do." He paused,
then continued. "The scouts have reported that Hyalt is half
deserted, and we've seen that many of the steads have been
abandoned. We've captured mounts, though many aren't that
good, and some have their coats worn from harnesses and collars.
We don't know as much as I'd like, but it looks like this prophet
Adarat has used some form of Talent to persuade people to leave
their homes and steads and serve him as lancers, and perhaps in
many other ways as well.

"Even so, if that's true," Alucius continued, "whatever this is, it's not
a rebellion or a revolt. Rebels don't have standardized uniforms
within weeks. They don't have lancers who can still ride with
wounds that should have left them dead. They don't have Talent-
wielders powerful enough to enchant scouts from a distance."

"You think it's an invasion?" asked Deotyr.

"I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say it's a Talent-invasion, with
the Talent-wielder coming from somewhere else and getting some
supplies from there, but using the local men and boys as fodder."

"Who could be behind it?" pressed Deotyr.

"The Regent?" asked Jultyr.

"It's possible," said Alucius, even though he doubted that it could
be the Regent. From what he could tell, it had to be the ifrits, and
he could only hint at that.

"You don't think so, do you?" said Feran.

"I don't know what's behind it. It could be the Regent of the Matrial,
but I think it's something else. What that something is… that's
another question, but the way we were attacked by Talent-
creatures near Hyalt, then earlier north of Krost, and all the feeling
of Talent all around Hyalt…" Alucius shook his head. "Don't you
think that if the Regent of the Matrial had that kind of power, our
lancers would be taking terrible losses in Madrien and getting
pushed out of Southgate?"

"Maybe they are," suggested Jultyr. "We wouldn't know, would
we?"

Alucius let a rueful laugh escape. "You could be right. We wouldn't
know."

"If that happened, can't have happened too long ago," offered
Korow. "We get the dispatches here, two, three days after
Tempre. Nothing in them. Can't see why they'd hide something like
that. 'Sides, if they did, still be something about lancer companies
being formed or moved." The older undercaptain stopped and
pulled at his chin. "Come to think of it, one of the dispatch riders
said they've got more companies in training at Krost, and
something about the companies being moved out of Indyor and
being sent west."

Alucius put the most faith in the dispatch riders. If anyone outside
of the marshals and the Lord-Protector would know, the dispatch
riders would.

"If it's the Regent, then we're on our own, Majer, aren't we?" asked
Jultyr.

"We knew that already," Alucius said wryly.

"But where did the Regent get all this Talent?" asked Deotyr, the
tone in his voice one between exasperation and annoyance.

Alucius shrugged. "We don't know what caused the Cataclysm or
the fall of the Duarchy. We don't even know how the Duarchy came
to be. All we know is that something strange is happening that
doesn't seem to have happened before, and it's been happening
all over Corus. The prophet could be a wild Talent-wielder who's
convinced everyone from merchants to local holders that the
Duarchy will come again and gotten them to provide uniforms and
supplies. Proclaiming that the True Duarchy will come doesn't
mean that it will, no matter how many in Hyalt believe it. Under
those conditions, the Regent of the Matrial would be happy to
supply weapons to keep the Lord-Protector and Lanachrona
occupied elsewhere. Even the Dramurians might do that. We can't
deal with the Matrial or the Dramurians or whoever. Our job is to
stop whatever's happening in Hyalt."

"What do you have in mind, sir?" asked Feran.

"Make a strike at the camp we hit with the fires, first. That's likely to
be the headquarters camp from what we've learned so far. Then
strike the other camp. If we destroy this so-called prophet's forces,
we'll find it easier to strike at him—if he's even alive after we finish."
Alucius cleared his throat and took another swallow of water. "I
thought the men could use a break before we made that kind of
strike. We should be getting supplies tomorrow, but, if we don't get
any more supplies, we'll take whatever extra ammunition Korow
can spare and head off the morning after tomorrow."

"You don't want to wait, then?" asked Deotyr.

"Not too much longer than we have," Alucius admitted. "I'd thought
we could find out more than we have. We didn't. Sometimes, you
just can't get any more information. When that happens, you have
to act, because you won't get any more until they're attacking you,
and you're better off acting instead of reacting."

"Still think it's strange," mused Deotyr.

"It is strange. It may well get stranger if we don't put a stop to it,"
Alucius pointed out. He didn't point out that they were also better
off dealing with the prophet before the Regent of the Matrial
became even more involved—if she were involved in the first
place. If the prophet happened to be an ifrit, early action was also
better. He just hoped the ammunition arrived—and before long.
Chapter 63
North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

As she reined up the chestnut outside the stable in the late
afternoon of a cold harvest day, Wendra swung out of the saddle
gracefully, despite her growing midsection.

"You won't be able to keep that up for much longer," offered
Lucenda, walking over from the processing shed.

"I'm good for another month, maybe two," insisted Wendra,
leading the chestnut mare inside the stable and into the second
stall. "The baby's fine, and you know that the longer I can ride, the
easier the delivery." She grinned. "That's what you told me."

"I didn't mean spending the entire day in the saddle. I wasn't talking
about riding herd on the flock." Lucenda looked over the end of the
stall at the younger woman. "You look tired. You shouldn't be taking
the flock so often."

"I'm only taking them every other day," Wendra said. "It's not that.
There were more of those… creatures… those pteridons. They
appeared maybe two glasses ago, on the way back."

"Did they—"

"I shot both of them. They didn't get any of the flock. One came
close to a lamb, but I dropped it onto a quarasote bush. They both
went up in that blue flame." Wendra racked the saddle and then
shook her head. "I never thought I'd see anything that could burn
quarasote."

"I don't like your being out there, not with those… creatures."

Wendra looked at the older woman, then lowered her voice. "You
know Royalt can't do anything about the pteridons or the black
Sanders. Besides, they don't show up that often."

"That's the third time since summer."

"Fourth," Wendra admitted. "But there were only two, and now that
I'm carrying two rifles, it's easier."

"You're getting those golds from the Lord-Protector. We could
afford to lose one or two ewes, and it wouldn't be so bad now."

"They're helpful, but not enough to replace more than a ram, if we
could," Wendra pointed out. "I'd rather save the golds for later,
when we really need them."

Lucenda offered a wan smile. "You're a herder—just like your
grand-sire. And Alucius."

"I'm a herder, and I won't give it up. You and Alucius gave that to
me, and the flock will be here, and so will the stead, when he
comes back." She paused. "I know he's all right, but I wish we'd
hear more. It's been two weeks since his last letter. He said it
would be hard to send them after he left Krost, but I worry."

"Knowing Alucius, he worries about you."

"He doesn't need to. He's the one who's in danger." Wendra
continued to curry the chestnut. "Rebels will be shooting at him."

"Whereas you merely have to fight off Talent-creatures the likes of
which haven't been seen since before the Cataclysm—another
legacy of the Duarches." Lucenda snorted.

"The times are changing," Wendra said.

"You sound like Alucius."

"He's right."

"He was almost always right," Lucenda said, her voice holding a
mixture of sadness and wistfulness. "I can remember when he
saved Lamb. He looked up at me, and he said, 'He'll get well. You'll
see. He will.' Then he went to sleep."

"That's Alucius."

"As a mother, it's frightening. He always saw so much more. He
didn't always know what it meant, but he saw it." Lucenda's eyes
fixed on Wendra. "Your daughter… she'll be like that, and then
you'll understand."

"I've thought that," Wendra admitted. "Especially at those times
when I've wakened and seen Alucius sleep, and he looks so
childlike."

Lucenda looked as though she might say more. Then she laughed
softly. "I need to check on supper. Come on in when you can."

After Lucenda left, Wendra continued to brush the chestnut, her
eyes open but focused far to the south.
Chapter 64

Octdi found the column of lancers riding back southward on the
high road away from Ceazan and toward Hyalt. Although he did not
expect to find traces of the rebels until the next day, Alucius was
still using both his Talent and his eyesight to scan the road and the
terrain to either side, seeking any trace of the purpleness that
marked the rebels or any sign of dust in the dry harvest season that
was but days away from fall. Soon the weather would turn colder,
even in southern Lanachrona, if not nearly so cold as autumn days
would be in the Iron Valleys.

Through the morning Alucius rode with Twenty-eighth Company,
and midmorning came and went. At noon, he ordered Thirty-fifth
Company forward and rode with Jultyr. They had ridden more than
a glass, passing but a few pleasantries, before Jultyr cleared his
throat. Alucius waited.

"The marshals sent that ammunition real quick, sir."

"My dispatch explained the problem, at least as well as I could."

"I've seen colonels, sir, didn't get supplies that fast."

"The Lord-Protector has a problem. The sooner we get the
ammunition, the sooner we can deal with it."

"You don't think there's any other way?"

Alucius laughed softly. "I don't know that the rebels gave us much
choice. They attacked us first on several occasions. Do you think
there was anything else we could have done?"

"No, sir."

"Do you think we ought to strike the hill camp first or the one
northeast of town?"

Jultyr considered.

Alucius waited once more.

"I'd say the hill camp, sir. You hit the town camp, and they'll be
ready for the second attack. Be harder to get word from the hills
back to the other camp. Also, you hit the town camp, and folks
could run to the other one. Make the second attack harder, and we
might have to kill women and children. "Jultyr shrugged. "Might
have to, anyway."

"We might."

"Still can't figure why they don't like the Lord-Protector. Never did
anything to these folks. Nothing. Garrison here was mostly those
with injuries of the kind that wouldn't heal, serving last year or two
before getting a stipend." Jultyr paused. "This True Duarchy
thing… might not be as good as the old one. Who's to say the old
one was that good? All we got is stories and legends and a few
roads and buildings. Doesn't tell what living there was like."

"Legends don't tell everything," Alurius replied mildly.

"Folks remember what they want to. Could be good. Could be
bad." Jultyr cocked his head, thinking. "My grandda… he told
stories. Never told a happy one. My grandmam, she never told a
sad one. Spent near-on fifty years together. Funny… lived the
same life. Sure saw it different—or told it different."

"People are like that."

Jultyr frowned. "Except these rebels. They all act the same… do
the same. Folks in their right minds aren't like that."

"This prophet is using some kind of Talent to change their minds."

"That's hard on folks, hard on us."

Alucius nodded. Whatever happened was going to be hard on
everyone. He scanned the road ahead once more, then the
thornbush-covered rises on each side.
Chapter 65

On a cool and cloudy Londi, just past noon, Alucius, Feran, Jultyr,
and Deotyr stood to one side of the ashes of a cookfire, halfway
down the slope of the hillside camp less than five vingts from the
eastern approach to the western camp of the Hyalt rebels.

Facing them were Rakalt and Waris, the two best remaining
scouts. Given the earlier scouting problems, Alucius was both
pleased and relieved that the pair had returned, although Elbard
remained at the way station and was healing well. For that, at least,
Alucius was grateful.

"Sir… you know we burned all those trees around their camp—and
the spiky thorns," said Waris.

"I was there," Alucius pointed out.

"The trees that we burned—they're still black, but there's fresh
green spiky thorn everywhere that was burned—looks even bigger
and thicker."

"You're sure about that?" asked Feran.

Jultyr and Deotyr exchanged glances.

"Cut off a piece. Tough, too." Waris produced a half-yard length of
a greenish brown thorn branch.

Even as the scout extended it, and Alucius took the thorny length,
he had to repress a shudder at the faint hint of purple and black
that his Talent detected. Someone—either an ifrit or an ifrit-
possessed Lanachronan—had bled off the very life-essence of
people to spur or fuel the unnatural growth of the spiky
thornbushes. "It's like this all the way around the camp?"

"Looked to be, sir." Waris glanced toward Rakalt.

"Far as I could tell, sir," added the second scout.

"What about the palisades and the walls? Have they been
reinforced?" No, sir.

"Are the gates kept closed, or are they open some of the time?"

"Only the same two, sir, and they were both open. Didn't look like
they were ever closed, maybe except at night. Maybe not then."

"Did you see any lancers, besides those doing sentry duty?"

"There were some walking around, sir, but I didn't see any drills or
anything," replied Waris.

"They don't have a maneuver ground or anything like that, either,"
added Rakalt. "Only place that the ground is packed or dug up is
the road."

"Did you see any sign of digging, pits, stakes… ?"

"No, sir, and the way the ground is… be hard to disguise that."

"What about that cave?"

"Couldn't see anything new there, sir. Just looks like a big square
arch carved into the stone of the bluff. Be hard to take, if they all
got inside, but they couldn't shoot from there without being
exposed themselves. No embrasures or windows cut in the stone.
Just that arch."

"And a skylight slit of some sort," added Waris.

Feran and Alucius kept asking questions, but little had changed,
except for the regrowth of the thorns. That nothing had changed
bothered Alucius, and he kept wondering what he was missing.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said to the scouts, "Thank you. If
there's anything else, I'll find you."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius waited until the two scouts were a good ten yards away
before lowering his voice and speaking to the other officers. "We'll
attack at dawn tomorrow, just the way we'd planned. The sun will be
in their eyes."

"What if they attack us before that?" asked Deotyr.

"Then we'll kill them here and attack in the morning," Alucius
replied. "That means that they'll have fewer defenders. They've got
to be weaker than before. They've lost something like five
companies, and they can't have that many more, not unless they're
cramming lancers into those buildings like chickens in a coop."

"They might, sir," Feran replied deferentially. "Some chickens have
more brains than some of those lancers."

Alucius managed not to laugh, but he couldn't help smiling. Neither
could Jultyr. Deotyr just looked down at the ground.

"Post two sets of sentries, one set a good vingt out on the
approach roads. Captain Deotyr could be right about a late-
afternoon or evening attack. And have your men sleep with their
weapons loaded."

"Yes, sir."

As the other officers moved back to relay the information to their
squad leaders, Alucius took out the thornbush section that Waris
had brought back. He studied it with distaste, then slowly used his
Talent to separate the brownish lifethread energy, already fading,
from the greenery. Abruptly, the entire length turned black, then
shriveled into ash.

The majer nodded to himself. If he had to, he could remove the
thorn-bushes, and with a little misdirection, no one but Feran would
know exactly what happened. His guts tightened.

"What happened to that spike-thorn?" asked Feran, walking toward
Alucius. "One moment you were holding it, and the next it was
gone."

"It died."

Feran raised his eyebrows, then frowned. "You were upset when
Waris gave you that spiky thorn. Tough plant. Or was it something
else?"

"It's not the plant," Alucius replied in a low voice. "Plants regrow
after fire. That's the way it is. They don't grow twice as big across
whole hillsides with one small rainstorm in only two weeks.
Someone used Talent, more than a little." Alucius wasn't about to
tell Feran what else his own Talent had revealed.

"Using Talent to rebuild thorns?" Feran frowned, the fine lines
radiating from his eyes deepening. "Must have more than a few
with Talent there. You still want to go through with this attack?"

"Better now than later, when there might be more with Talent,"
Alucius replied.

Feran's laugh was harsh. "I liked the world a lot better before
Talent started coming back all over the place."

"Makes you think about whether the Duarchy was as great as the
legends say."

"If this prophet's any example, I'll take the way things were before."

"I don't think there's any way to go back," Alucius said dryly.

"You're always saying things like that, most honored Majer," Feran
replied. "You know what I hate about that?"

"What?"

"You're usually right."

They both laughed, Alucius as much at the dry irony in Feran's tone
as at the words themselves.
Chapter 66

Alucius stood on the crest of the hill as if frozen, his legs anchored
to the sandy soil. He tried to lift one leg, then the other, but neither
would move. The three-quarter disc of Selena cast an eerie
purplish white light across the night hillside, and Alucius strained to
hear the sounds of the night. There were none, just a dead silence.

A purplish pink mist swirled across the road, which was barely
more than a dirt track at the base of the hill, at first just intermittently
blocking his view of the road itself, but slowly thickening until he
could no longer see the road or the ground on either side. Slowly,
ever so slowly, the purplish pink mist began to thicken even more,
and rise, so that it crept up the hillside, obscuring the lower parts of
the hill, then obliterating them from view. The higher the mist rose,
and the closer it drew to Alucius, the colder he felt.

Abruptly, Alucius woke with a start. He glanced around, but the
encampment was still. Totally still. Even the horses, secured on
tielines on the western end of the encampment, had not stirred,
and usually there was some unrest among the more skittish
mounts when things were not going well.

After a moment, he pulled on his boots, clumsily, as if his hands
and legs had been asleep, and as if neither was fully awake yet. He
struggled to his feet. Even standing was an effort, but with each
movement he felt less constrained. Constrained?

He shook his head. Even his thoughts were slow.

He had to force himself to use his Talent, something that he hadn't
had to do in years. His Talent was so much a part of him that its
use was usually like using his arms or his sight.

Somewhere down below was something… something woven out
of Talent, out of ifritlike Talent, with the purplish tint that he
associated with them.

His first reaction was to sound an alert, but he paused, even as he
bent down and eased one of his rifles out of its case, then the
second.

He glanced to his right, where Feran lay sleeping, but the older
officer was breathing so lightly that his form barely moved. With
both rifles, one in each hand, he eased toward Feran's sleeping
form. "Feran?"

He bent down and repeated, "Feran?"

The overcaptain did not stir, and Alucius could sense the faintest
fog of purple surrounding Feran's head. Abruptly, Alucius focused
a Talent-probe. The faintest touch of the probe, and the fog
dissolved.

"Feran?"

"What…" The other's voice was hoarse, as if unused.

"We're about to be attacked… everyone's been put to sleep with
Talent."

"Talent?" Feran sounded as confused as Alucius had felt when
he'd awakened.

"Talent, from the prophet," Alucius replied.

Feran convulsed erect, kicking back his blanket and groping for his
boots. "Son of a misbegotten sow…"

"We need to get Fifth Company awake, quietly. I'm afraid that if we
try to wake everyone at once, they'll rush us, and… we won't have
enough steady rifles."

"You had to do something, didn't you? Herder stuff." Feran pulled
on his boots.

Alucius ignored the question as he used his Talent to take in the
riders who were dismounting out of sight on the mist-swirled road
below. "You ready?"

Feran stood. "Let's go."

The two started with Egyl, and then Alucius just stood at the edge
of the line of bedrolls and used his Talent to dissolve the purplish
mist around each man, while the squad leader quietly explained.

Then he eased downhill with Faisyn and Fifth Company's first
squad.

"They'll be coming up on both sides of the path, on foot," Alucius
whispered to Faisyn. "We want to hold fire until they're close."

"We can do that."

While Alucius stationed himself in a prone position, with two of the
lancers abreast the path, Faisyn slipped from one lancer to the
next, whispering the instructions.

Second squad arrived before Faisyn returned, and Alucius passed
on the orders. Those hadn't reached every lancer when figures
began to appear below them. No more than twenty rebels in dark
tunics and trousers eased up the hillside in silence, slipping from
juniper to juniper.

Alucius forced himself to wait until the first man was less than
twenty yards away.

He squeezed the trigger and ordered, "Now! Fire! Fire at will."

The hillside flared into fire.

Almost half the attackers went down under the first few volleys, but
a number of them struggled to reach rifles or blades even as they
were dying. Some crawled forward, others struggled with weapons
suddenly too heavy to lift.

Alucius kept shooting. Anyone who looked to be possibly
dangerous, already wounded or not, was a target.

Within half a glass, the hillside below was quiet once more.

Alucius reached out with his Talent, trying to determine whether
another attack was likely, but from what he could sense, there was
no one alive on the road below, except for perhaps a squad of
riders a half vingt south, heading at a quick trot down the dirt road
away from Alucius and in the general direction of the rebel
encampment.

"Faisyn… if you'd hold first squad in readiness for a bit longer."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius eased himself up into a sitting position and then stood,
looking for Feran and finding the older officer twenty yards to the
west. He walked toward Feran.

"Didn't lose anyone here," Feran said.

"I worry about the sentries."

"So do I. Sent Egyl and fourth squad to check on them." Feran
coughed. "Frigging sleep spell… slimy bastard…"

"It wasn't exactly a spell…"

"Same thing, no matter what you call it."

Alucius shrugged. In practical terms, Feran was right. He glanced
uphill, where, with the deaths of the attackers and the departure of
the prophet or whoever had used Talent to create the stuporous
sleep, the purplish sleep miasma began to dissipate, and the more
normal sounds of a camp rustled through the night.

Feran stood and stretched. "Do you think… ?"

"They're gone. You can have them stand down, except for first
squad, say for another half glass. If we don't hear or sense
anything, they can turn back in then, too."

"I'll let them know. Egyl's checking on the sentries."

No sooner had Feran left than Jultyr was beside Alucius. "Sir…
thought I heard shots… said you were down here."

"You did. The rebels tried another attack. Fifth Company drove
them back."

Jultyr yawned. "Never… slept through firefight before…"

"We might have had some help. Everyone was sleepy."

"Talent?" asked the older captain.

"I think so."

"Sneaky bastards… tomorrow can't come soon enough."

Both officers turned at the footsteps nearing.

Egyl walked slowly out of the gloom and shadows of the scattered
junipers toward Alucius. "We lost the outer sentries. They slit their
throats. All four of them."

"The others?"

"No, sir. They're sleepy, still. Should be all right."

"We won't post any more that far out. Not tonight."

"Yes, sir." Egyl slipped uphill.

Jultyr looked at Alucius. "Never fought anything like this."

"I don't know that anyone has." Alucius bent and lifted his rifles,
carrying one in each hand. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, sir."

As he eased away from Jultyr, trying to find a little space to think,
Alucius tried to consider what had happened and what he had
planned. Should he still order the attack at dawn? The question
was whether to attack immediately… or to wait.

Alucius had never liked waiting, but he had to wonder if the
commander of the rebels had wagered on that. Then, if he didn't
attack, how many more men would he lose to something like the
sleep compulsion? And how much rest would he and everyone
else lose trying to make sure they weren't surprised again?

For better or worse, he would attack in the morning.
Chapter 67

Alucius hadn't slept that well when he heard the voice. "Sir? It's two
glasses before dawn."

"Thank you." He rolled out of his bedroll tiredly, then eased on his
boots. After a time, he slowly stood, yawning. The night had been
all too short, but unless they stopped the prophet Adarat, every
night could be like the last—and some night he'd be too tired to
protect his men… or himself.

After washing up with the water in the bucket that he'd gotten the
night before, he pulled himself together for the day ahead, finishing
up rolling up blankets and bedroll and walking to the tielines. There
he saddled the gray and strapped his gear in place. He went over
both rifles, making sure they were fully loaded. Finally, before
mounting, he checked to make sure the nightsilk skull mask that he
had not used in years was safely well inside his undergarments. It
wasn't something he wore often, and almost never when leading
lancers, but it had proven useful in cold weather and on solo
scouting missions… and upon a few other occasions.

Then he mounted and rode slowly down the gentler section of the
hillside to the flat bottom between hills that held the rutted dirt road
where the three companies were forming up in the predawn
darkness. In the gloom on the west side of the road, amid the
scent of dust and cedars, he listened as lancers and their mounts
made their way into formation.

"… hate early rides…"

"You hate all rides, Bakka…"

"… friggin' long night… now we're supposed to fight?"

"… we don't fight, and you'll have more long nights…"

"Almost wish we were freezing our butts around Harmony."

"Not me. Matrites can shoot better."

"… take shots any day to this Talent crap…"

"… rebels are scary… not all there…"

"… better that than Matrites who are all there."

Alucius just hoped that lancer was correct. When he sensed Feran
moving to the head of the column, he eased the gelding from the
shadows and toward the overcaptain. "Good morning."

"It's not morning yet, and its not that good… sir," Feran said, his
voice cheerful even though his words were not.

"We have some problems you haven't told me?"

"Besides last night? Not yet." Feran chuckled mournfully. "You
know how much I like mornings, and this is before morning. I'm not
a herder. I left the family holding just so I didn't have to get up
before the sun."

"It'll be up in a glass or so."

"More like two. This is night, not morning. I can't see in the dark the
way you herders can."

Even as Alucius laughed at Feran's mournful tone, he wondered
what it would be like for night to be a barrier to seeing. He only
experienced something like that a few times, in caves or ruins
where there was absolutely no light. He turned the gray as a lancer
rode along the shoulder of the road from the north.

"Majer, sir?"

"Here."

"Captain Jultyr reports that Thirty-fifth Company is present and
accounted for and ready to go, sir."

"Thank you. Tell the captain that we'll be riding shortly."

"Yes, sir."

As the lancer turned his mount, Feran coughed, then said, "Fifth
Company is ready, sir. Should have reported that earlier."

"You're always ready."

"With you, Majer, it pays."

The two waited, their mounts in the road just south of where Fifth
Company had formed, waiting for the report from Twenty-eighth
Company. It felt as though a quarter glass had gone by before a
squad leader appeared out of the gloom, but Alucius knew that far
less time had passed.

"Twenty-eighth Company, present and accounted for."

"Thank you. We'll be departing momentarily."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius turned to Feran. "Column, forward!"

The order echoed through the darkness. As the words died away,
the sound of hoofs on hard dirt replaced them, and the three
companies began to ride southward.

They covered almost three vingts before the darkness began to
lighten, with the hint of gray rising above the low hills just to the east
of the road. Along the way, Alucius munched some travel bread
and cheese, washing it down with water. He could tell that a
number of the Fifth Company lancers did as well.

"What are you going to do about the spiky thornbush?" asked
Feran.

"Nothing. Not unless I have to. I don't think they'll be expecting a
dawn attack. Except for setting those fires, we haven't made a
single attack, and we haven't been moving near Hyalt this early.
Also, they don't seem to be very alert. If the gates are still open,
I'm going to take out the sentries, and we'll just ride in. If they've
actually closed the gates, then we'll set a few fires, and ride around
the walls and then in."

"You really don't think they'll have the walls heavily guarded, do
you?" asked Feran.

"One of the failures of great power is that you can rely on it too
much."

"You're being mysterious again."

"When I was first a scout, I was assigned to an older scout. He
wasn't a herder. He didn't have the faintest trace of Talent. He was
one of the best scouts I ever knew, far better than I was. He looked
at everything and fit it together. That's the problem with relying on
Talent alone. This prophet is relying on Talent, and he has no real
regard for his lancers. You can tell that by the way he spends them.
The gates were loosely guarded the first time we scouted them,
and that was after they knew we were here. They won't be that well
guarded today," Alucius predicted.

"I hope you're right."

Alucius wasn't sure what he hoped, because lightly guarded gates
meant a confidence in some other power, presumably great
power, and he wasn't certain he wanted to face that kind of power.

Another half vingt passed, and the sky lightened further, enough to
see the recent hoofprints in the dust, prints only from the night
before, Alucius judged. Then, they reached the last turn in the
narrow road before it headed due west toward the rebel camp.

"Column, halt!"

Once the force halted, Alucius ordered, "Ready rifles. Silent
riding."

Then the files split, one on each shoulder of the road, leaving the
center open.

They rode another vingt before halting. The lead riders of each file
stopped short of the last cover before the open meadow in front of
the entry road and gates that lay open two hundred yards away.

Feran looked across the open road to Alucius.

Alucius looked back over his shoulder, waiting. He pointed to the
east.

Feran nodded, and they waited until the orange-white light of the
sun spilled over the horizon, then above the low eastern hills, flat
and directly into the eyes of the sentry, if the man was even looking
eastward.

Alucius eased the gray forward until he was barely clear of the
squat cedar that was one of the last before the open space in front
of the walls. He halted the gelding and, raising his rifle, using sight
and Talent, took aim on the rebel guard in the boxlike sentry post
by the gate.

Crack!

The rebel slumped from sight.

With the single shot as the signal, without a word, Fifth Company
led the way—not a charge, but a mounted fast walk, up the narrow
road and across the open space short of the palisades. The other
two companies followed.

Beyond the palisades and the gates, a dark purpleness
slumbered, silent and present, but not so much waiting, as just
there. Alucius held his Talent and his rifle ready as he led the force
across the meadow toward the open gates. With his Talent, he
could sense only one other form near the gates, and that rebel was
sleeping in the other sentry guard box. Alucius kept his attention
focused on the sleeping rebel, as well as on the road past the
open gates and into the encampment.

Step by step, the mounts and the lancers they carried neared the
gate. They were less than twenty yards from the gates when the
sleeping sentry bolted upright.

Alucius had been waiting. His first shot went into the sentry's
shoulder, and the second into the man's chest. The striker in the
sentry's hand made a muted clang as it struck the watch bell.

"Column, forward!" Alucius snapped, urging the gelding forward
toward the still-open gates.

Fifth Company responded, and after several moments, so did the
other two companies.

As he rode inside the now-unguarded gates, Alucius kept scanning
for defenders, but he could neither see nor sense any at the
palisades. So he continued to ride, with Fifth Company
immediately behind him, up the gentle slope of the road to the
upper level, where the barracks and stables were—on the flat just
east of the temple carved out of the bluff.

As he rode over the low crest of the approach road and onto the
flat, Alucius studied the one-story barracks—two unpainted, plank-
sided dwellings, each fifty yards long and ten wide, each with a
roof sloped down from a high rear wall to a lower front wall. The
handful of windows had shutters, also unpainted, but no glass.

The watch bell from the south gate began to clang, repeatedly and
almost desperately.

"Lancers! Lancers inside the gates!" someone yelled.

"Fifth Company! Firing line abreast, double file!" Feran ordered.

As Fifth Company re-formed, rifles aimed at the barracks, Alucius
continued to scan the flat and the bluff area beyond, where the
prophet had to be, from the swirling purpleness that had begun to
billow from the square arch cut into the reddish sandstone.

Less than a hundred men in the maroon tunics stumbled from the
long and crude barracks, and a third might have held rifles. The
others held blades or spears. All the rebels were dusted with the
purple miasma, and all began to run toward the mounted lancers of
Fifth Company.

"Fifth Company! Fire at will!"

The first volley took down a good third of the rebel attackers.

At the same time, Alucius could see a goodly number of rebels
leaving the western end of the barracks and running toward the
temple carved into the bluff. Then he had to concentrate on the six
rebels sprinting toward him.

It took him two shots to down the one rebel with a rifle, because
the man bobbed irregularly as he ran toward Alucius. The bobbing
not only made it hard for Alucius to target the man, but also made it
difficult for him to aim accurately at Alucius or any of the mounted
Northern Guard.

Alucius slipped the first rifle into the holder and drew the second
one, firing at another tall rebel sprinting toward him. The man
sprawled on the dirt, then struggled to his knees, and lurched
upright, blood pouring from the hole in his guts, less than five yards
from the Northern Guard majer. Alucius put another bullet into the
man, killing him. He shifted aim to another rebel, one within yards
of driving a long poleaxe into Bakka from the right, while Bakka was
using his sabre to slash down an attacker to his left.

For the next half glass, rifles fired, and sabres rose and fell.

Then there was silence across the flat.

From what Alucius could determine with his Talent, the only
remaining living lancers were those of his force—and those rebels
who had fled into the temple carved out of the hillside. As he
considered what to do next, a purple miasma flared from the
temple, unseen except with Talent, washing over the northern end
of Fifth Company, those in fifth squad. Abruptly, a good ten lancers
slumped in their saddles.

Alucius could sense that at least one, possibly two men, were
dead.

"All companies, pull back a hundred yards! Now!"

"Pullback and re-form!"

The orders echoed across the open space between the barracks
and stables and the cutaway bluff that held the temple within.
Alucius eased the gray across to the lancers who had been struck.
Two were indeed dead.

Feran rode toward Alucius. "Talent, Majer?"

"A nasty form of it."

Between the two of them and Zerdial, the fifth squad leader, they
managed to get mounts and lancers, dead and alive, back away
from the temple.

Alucius looked to Feran, then to Deotyr and Jultyr. "I'd judge there
might be a hundred lancers inside. Overcaptain Feran will take
charge of rotating companies covering the main entrance to the
temple there. One company should be enough. A second
company will be standing by. The third will see if they have any
supplies and ammunition we can use."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to see what we can do about this prophet." Alucius
turned the gelding back toward the temple, reining up to one side,
about twenty yards away, in a position where he could not be fired
at unless one of the rebels actually stepped outside the archway.

When the second wave of purple flared forth, conelike, from the
temple archway, Alucius countered with his own net of golden
green. The two meshed, and minute pinlights of brilliance, visible
to all the lancers, flashed across the morning.

Alucius waited for the next attack from the ifrit/prophet.

The third wave collapsed fifty yards from the temple archway, well
short of any of the lancers.

Doubting that there would be another Talent attack soon, Alucius
studied the square arch of the temple, both with sight and Talent
senses. The archway itself was clear, with a stone-walled corridor
three yards wide and close to three high running back some four
yards before opening onto an antechamber of sorts. The corridor
walls were smooth, without projections or niches. Behind them
were rebels, armed and waiting.

There was no way to enter the temple, not that Alucius could
sense, without getting caught in the stone-walled corridor. There
was also no way to plant any of his powder deep enough to bring
down the temple without subjecting anyone trying to murderous
fire.

He turned the gray and rode back toward Feran.

"They can't get out, and we can't get in," observed the overcaptain.
"Not without losing a lot of men."

Alucius beckoned to Waris, on the end of first squads formation.

The scout slipped his mount out of formation and toward Alucius.
"Sir?"

"You've scouted this twice. Is there any other way in besides that
archway?"

"Not for people, sir. There's a slit above in that angled line of
stone, sir," observed Waris. "It's sort of a skylight. You can't see it
from here, but it's there."

"How wide is it?"

"Maybe a third of a yard, half at most. Two yards long, I'd guess."

"I may see if I can get up there," Alucius said.

Feran raised his eyebrows, as if to ask "Why?"

"There's a Talent-wielder in there. If we leave him, we're no better
off than we were, or we won't be in a few weeks. If we try to rush
him, we lose more lancers than all that we've lost this far. I'll need
some rope, though, and Waris and Rakalt to help me."

"What… if I might inquire, sir…" asked Feran deferentially, "did you
have in mind?"

"I thought I'd use one of the heavy shells and a rifle," Alucius
replied. "If no one thinks I can get up there, I'd at least like to try a
shot at him. If not that, then if I start shooting maybe I can panic the
rebels inside to try to escape."

"You don't think they'll surrender?"

"Has anyone surrendered?" Alucius countered.

"Couldn't anyone else… ?" asked Jultyr slowly.

"We don't have any other herders," Feran replied. "You saw what
happened when the lancers got too close to the temple. The
majer's right about his being the only one who can do this."

There was the faintest murmur of "Oh…" from Deotyr.

Alucius hoped no one asked about the scouts. While he could
protect them, he didn't want to explain that. "I'd like to do this fairly
quickly. That last Talent-blast showed he was weaker, and I'd like
to catch him before he regains too much strength." He reached
inside his tunic and pulled out the skull mask, working it into place.

Feran summoned Waris and Rakalt, and they rode up as Alucius
turned the gray. "Where do you suggest we start?"

"To the right, just past that funny-looking fir," replied Waris. "I've
got some rope, maybe twenty yards. Will that be enough?"

"It'll have to be." Alucius angled the gray toward the fir, and the two
scouts followed him.

"What's the majer doing?"

"… going after the prophet, they say…"

"… hope he gets him…"

"… only officer I know who does the dirty stuff…"

"… if I had those bars, wouldn't catch me…"

"… could be why he has 'em so young…"

It could be, reflected Alucius, just plain stupidity. But he had to at
least get up there and look and see what he could do. He couldn't
leave the prophet, and he didn't have the time and supplies for a
long, drawn-out siege, not when he had no idea how many supplies
might have been stockpiled in the temple cave for how long. And
he certainly didn't want to sacrifice lancers from a force that was
already too small for the tasks assigned.

That didn't leave many choices.

He dismounted behind the fir and tied the gray to a stubby cedar
root. Then, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he and the two
others began to climb the side of what was too steep to be a hill
and not steep enough to be a bluff. Between the boulders, the
sand-covered red sandstone made the footing treacherous, and
more than a few times Alucius could feel his boots slipping. Riding
boots were not designed for climbing.

Every so often Alucius paused, not only to catch his breath but to
use his Talent to check on Adarat, but the purple shadow presence
remained within the hillside temple. Alucius continued to climb,
boulder by boulder, using roots and rocks.

Every so often a few shots rang out below, but they were from Fifth
Company, and Alucius judged that Feran was having the lancers
fire occasionally to keep the rebels thinking about the Guard
troopers and not about what else might be happening—like Alucius
on his fool's errand.

"Sir…" called Waris from behind Alucius. "The roof part is just
ahead, over that line of rocks."

Alucius studied the line of rocks, realizing belatedly that the
stonework had actually been laid, but that the mortar had been
mixed with red sand to conceal the unnatural origin.

"Why… if you don't mind, sir… Rakalt and I ought to climb past
you, then move up to those boulders at the bottom of the higher
cliff there. If you attach the rope around your waist…"

"I won't fall too far if the roof gives way under me?"

"Or… if anything else happens, sir…"

Like getting shot, Alucius thought to himself. "You're right. I'll just
move here, and you two can climb by me." He watched as the two
scouts made their way up to him.

Waris scrambled a half yard or so beyond Alucius, his boots
slipping and dislodging more sand before he anchored himself on
a darkish red stone. From there, he handed Alucius one end of the
rope.

Alucius fastened it around his chest, then said in a low voice, "I'll
wait until you two are in position."

Waris nodded. After Rakalt climbed past Alucius, the two
continued upward for another five yards, then began to move
westward.

While Alucius waited for them to position themselves, he used his
Talent to scan the area ahead of him. He could sense nothing new,
but the purplish miasma filling the temple below seemed clearer
and nearer.

Roughly a quarter of a glass passed before Waris waved and
gently tugged the rope. Alucius waved back, then resumed his own
climb toward the course of stone that Waris had identified.

When he reached it, he smiled faintly. The stones were slightly
corbeled and extended almost two yards above him. He had to
edge eastward, practically to the end of the rope and to the sheer
drop-off below, before he could find footing and a true isolated
projecting stone that gave him solid enough footing so that he
could edge his way upward. Between the rifle and the rope, every
step worried him, and he was panting and sweating heavily when
be finally sat astraddle the artificial stone course.

He caught his breath before he eased to the inside of the roof wall.

The stones below and beyond the course of stone that Waris had
called to Alucius's attention were not natural at all, but more like thin
sheets of stone layered into an arch. With one hand on the stone
ridge, Alucius put his boot on one of the roof stones nearest to
him. It felt solid. He took another step, and nothing happened.

As Alucius made his way up the arched stone roof, Waris kept the
rope fairly taut.

Alucius was almost upon the open stone slit before he saw it,
much as Waris had described it. As he dropped into a crouch, he
could sense the purpleness below, and its overtones of what he
could only describe as evil, almost like individual nets linked by tiny
purplish nodes.

Alucius reached out with his Talent, and touched one of the nodes
with a point of golden green—herder/soarer Talent. With but the
barest pressure from Alucius, the golden green leapt from point to
point along the purple net, and abruptly, with an unheard rending
sound, the purple miasma shredded.

The entire temple shuddered, if only slightly, just enough that
Alucius could feel the stone beneath his boots moving and his
body swaying.

He steadied himself and studied the skylight. Beneath it and inside
the temple there were actually shutters that could cover the
opening, presumably in case of rain. Through the skylight he could
see the temple far below, with more than a hundred rebels in
maroon, and below the western end of the skylight, against the
wall, he could see steps.

As he looked at the steps and wall, his rifle in hand, a man walked
up the last steps to a landing, where there was a rope and pulley,
probably to operate the skylight shutters. The man wore maroon
silk and radiated the purpleness of an ifrit as he stood on the
landing of the steps, little more than five yards below Alucius. He
looked up and spoke. "I thought there might be one of the lamaials
beyond. You reached too far, Talent-steer, when you entered here.
You will not return to the north, lamaial."

A bolt of purple force flashed toward Alucius.

Awkwardly, because he felt off-balance, Alucius flung up one of his
own shields, and purpleness flared around him.

"Frig!… See that?" Rakalt's voice was incredulous.

Another blast of purple flared toward Alucius, not quite so strong
as the first. As the flare subsided, Alucius refocused his Talent
senses on the prophet.

Adarat was not an ifrit like the Recorder of Deeds in Tempre or the
engineer had been. That Alucius could sense. The prophet had but
one lifethread, not the twined and twisted double lifethread. But the
thread was different—brown shadowed with purple, a dark and
strong purple.

"You have some ability, Talent-steer," Adarat said. "But not
enough."

"Why have you turned them all into slaves?" Alucius asked, even
as he prepared his own Talent-thrust.

"Slaves? They are to serve the coming Duarchy. That is a mission
of glory!"

An even stronger blast of purpleness flashed from Adarat.

Alucious let it sheet past him. "You're as much a slave as they are."

"Never! I am the prophet." Adarat reached for a long black tube.

Alucius had no idea what the device was, but he'd seen some of
the ifrits' weapons and scarcely wanted to find out. He struck with
his Talent-probe, aiming for the node that linked body and
lifethread.

Adarat flung another purple blast, even as purple and brown
shreds exploded outward from the prophet's body. The black tube
spun out of Adarat!s hands and began to fall end over end toward
the floor of the temple below.

Alucius rocked back on his heels, then managed to recover his
balance.

"You will not succeed…" Adarat's words were strained, little above
a whisper. "Neither you nor your ancient ones will prevail against
the glory of Efra…"

Efra?

In the moment that Alucius took in the strange word, he could see
Adarat slump.

Crummmpppttt! Below Alucius was an explosion that shook the
entire hillside. Cracks appeared in the red rock on which he stood,
and the stone edges of the skylight began to crack, then fragment.
Pieces began to break away and fall into the temple.

He scrambled sideways, pulling himself along the rope and away
from the center of the temple roof, trying to bound over the stones
crumbling beneath him as more and more of the roof stones of the
temple cracked and began to crumble even under his boots.

He could feel Waris and Rakalt trying to reel in the rope.

Then something smashed into his shoulder, and blackness rolled
over him.
Chapter 68
North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

In early afternoon, the three sat around the kitchen table, ignoring
the chill wind that whipped around the stone walls of the stead
dwelling, trying to rattle the snug-shuttered windows and tight-fitted
doors. The gale-force winds of the first full storm of fall battered
the walls, as they had since the middle of the night before. Warmth
radiated from the iron stove.

Wendra stiffened, her face paling. "Oh…"

"You're too early," Lucenda said. "I told you about riding—"

"Its not that. I'm fine. Alucius… he's hurt."

Both Royalt and Lucenda looked hard at Wendra.

"It was like a fall… it wasn't Talent… he's alive…"

"He's too good a rider to fall," Royalt said, "not unless he was shot,
and you'd feel that."

"They could have shot his mount from under him," Lucenda
pointed out.

For a time, no one spoke.

"He's alive… he feels stronger… but he's still hurt. He's badly hurt."
Wendra's lips tightened. "He can't do this alone. He can't. How can
I help when I'm five hundred vingts away?"

"You're helping him by being the herder," Royalt said slowly. "He
won't have anything to come back to without you."

"He has you," Wendra said slowly, the pallor in her face lifting.

Royalt shook his head. "There's only the two of you—you and
Alucius—who can handle those new Talent-beasts. They'd turn me
into blue flame before I'd have two shots off, and not one of my
shots'd do a thing. Without you, Alucius wouldn't have anything."

For the first time, Wendra's eyes misted. She blotted them. "It's
not what you think. It's not. I'm trapped. If I go to him, he could lose
the stead, and that's almost everything for him. In a way, then, I'd
lose him. If I don't, I could also lose him."

Royalt nodded slowly.

Wendra looked at her husbands grandsire for a time. Finally, she
smiled wearily, a crooked expression, and lifted the mug before
her to her lips.
Chapter 69

Alucius opened his eyes. He could see stars. Had he been hit that
hard? With what? His entire back felt numb, but without the
sharpness of a specific wound. He thought he was lying on some
sort of pallet, but he wasn't sure. He squinted. There were stars
against darkness… and the half disc of Selena. He was lying on
the ground, hard ground, and it was night.

"Don't move," said a voice.

"I'm… not. What happened?"

"The whole cave… exploded, and it just fell away from under you,
sir. We thought you'd gone with the cave."

Alucius could make out the lancer's face, but not well enough in the
dim light to put a name to it. Or had he been hurt worse, somehow,
and he couldn't remember names and faces?

"How is he?" came another voice—Feran's.

"I'm not so bad as you think," Alucius replied.

"That's still bad," retorted Feran, moving into Alucius's sight.

"Why am I out here?"

"We didn't want to move you. Besides, the barracks are like a hog
pen. Never saw such filth."

That didn't surprise Alucius. Under the prophet's Talent-spell, many
of the enslaved lancers had shown little initiative.

Feran bent down to study Alucius. "Good thing you and Waris
worked out the rope, except that you were dangling there in the
middle of nothing and a bunch of rock bounced down and hit you.
A couple were a lot bigger than you are. Waris and Rakalt did their
best, but they had a hard time getting you down. We lost a bunch
of lancers to stone shrapnel when that temple blew. The whole
front exploded, sent stone everywhere."

"How many did we lose?"

"All told… thirty or so. About half came from Fifth Company and
half from Thirty-fifth. There aren't enough rebels left to fill a squad.
We figured there must have been at least fifty inside there."

"Closer to a hundred and fifty—and their prophet. He's dead. I
killed him." Alucius wasn't about to say how. "That's when the place
blew. Somehow, he'd Talent-linked himself to a bunch of powder,
and when he died, it set off the powder. Could have been
something else, but I don't know what." That was what Alucius had
thought, but there wasn't any way to prove that—or disprove it—not
that he knew, and it didn't matter. The effect had been the same.
Despite the explosion of the temple, Alucius had to wonder about
Adarat. The prophet had been either too strong or too weak, but
with the pain that ebbed and flowed through and around him,
Alucius lost track of why he'd thought that.

"Nasty bastard to the end," said Feran.

Alucius wiggled his fingers. They were slightly numb, but they
moved. He tried the same with his toes. He lifted his left arm. It
was sore, but it also moved. He tried his right arm. A wall of fire
and pain slammed into him, and he barely managed to lower it,
rather than let it fall onto the ground, which he knew would have hurt
even worse. "I'm pretty sore… don't think anything's broken…"

"How would you know?"

Rather than answer immediately, Alucius used his Talent to look at
himself, bit by bit. Finally, his eyes met Feran's. "Nothing's broken.
Everything's bruised on my back side and on my right. Need to roll
over. Need some help."

"Are you sure?"

"All the weight on the bruises doesn't help."

"The pressure might keep it from hurting more."

"Help me roll over. To the left…"

Feran knelt beside Alucius.

As Feran helped him turn, another wall of pain slammed into
Alucius, worse than the first. When he woke again, lying on his
stomach, Feran was sitting on the ground, watching.

"I told you, Majer."

Alucius wanted to laugh. "You… did…"

"You're not going anywhere real fast, even if nothing's broken."

"I can feel that, but I heal fast. In a week, I'll be able to ride."

"Do you think we should wait a week?"

"No…" Alucius paused. "Without the prophet around, you could
handle the other camp."

"You're sure that there's not another Talent-wielder?"

"I haven't seen any signs of one, but if there is… we can wait."

"Just the same to you, sir, I'd like to finish off these rebels before
something else happens. I'll take Twenty-eighth Company with
Fifth tomorrow, and half of Thirty-fifth, and we'll finish off the other
camp. Without their prophet, it'll be a slaughter job. Unless you've
got any objections."

Alucius thought. He knew that Feran wanted his approval, possibly
because the older officer didn't believe that Alucius was not more
severely injured. "Scout it first. Then, if you still think so… go
ahead. Without the prophet, they might surrender, but you'll have to
be careful. Shoot first, if you've got any questions." He wasn't
feeling all that charitable, not lying on whatever he was, and he had
a great deal less sympathy for the people of Hyalt than when he
had first arrived in the area. He still hadn't figured out exactly who
or what the prophet had been, except that he hadn't been an
ifrit—exactly—but he'd been more than merely influenced.

Alucius was finding it hard to keep his eyes open, and that sort of
speculation and deduction would have to wait.

Feran said something, but the words slipped away as a grayish
darkness crept over Alucius.
Chapter 70

When Alucius struggled into awareness once again, it was
morning, or he thought it was. He lay on a pallet in a small room, his
head propped up slightly with folded blankets. A lancer sat on a
stool, his face not quite bored, but impassive from long glasses of
inactivity. The lower part of the lancer's right tunic sleeve had been
cut away, and he wore a heavy dressing on his forearm.

"How… long?" Alucius managed, his voice raspy. His head
throbbed. In fact, almost his entire body throbbed.

"Yes, sir… Ah… it's Quattri… around midafternoon." The man
stood and hurried toward the pallet, extending a water bottle, left-
handed, with a slight awkwardness. "It's your water bottle, sir. The
overcaptain said you needed to drink as much as you could."

Alucius managed to reach across his body with his left hand and
take the water bottle. He only spilled a small amount on his face as
he drank.

The lancer watched.

Alucius eased his hand holding the water bottle down until it rested
on the pallet beside his leg. "I'll keep it for a bit."

"Yes, sir."

"Did Overcaptain Feran head out this morning?"

"Yes, sir. He left two squads and those of us wounded. And the
wagons."

"Were there any rebels left alive?"

"Seven of 'em, sir. That's all. Were more, but a some of 'em did
crazy things, like slitting their wrists or cutting their own throats. The
rest… well, the overcaptain had 'em tied up so as they wouldn't hurt
themselves. Said once you were better, you'd be wanting to talk to
them."

Alucius glanced around the room. Moving his head intensified the
throbbing that had started to fade after he drank the water.

The lancer followed his eyes. "This was the cleanest place around.
Only had to move junk out and swept it down good. The rest of
'em… well, everyone'd rather sleep outside."

"Has anything else strange happened?"

The wounded man cocked his head. "No, sir. I mean, no more
rebels, and the weather hasn't changed much, maybe a bit
windier." He paused. "Castav… he did say that all the new growth
of the thornbushes was turnin' black, suddenlike… maybe tried to
grow back too soon. Said he'd never seen bushes turn so quick."

Alucius had a good idea why that was happening. That growth had
been forced, and with Adarat's death, there was nothing to bind the
life force into the thornbushes. He lifted the water bottle slowly and
drank some more.

He hated being hurt, not being able to be in complete charge of his
body.

Then why do you keep doing things where it's likely to happen?
asked a voice inside his skull.

Because the alternatives seemed worse, he answered himself.
The problem was that he was using that response too much. All
too much.
Chapter 71

By midday on Quinti, Feran had still not returned. From what
Alucius could see through the open shutters of the single window,
the sky was only slightly hazy, and there was little wind. That he
could feel even from his pallet. He had been able to use the
makeshift chamber pot, thankfully, and eat some bread and
cheese, and move, if slowly. But he worried about the missing
forces. Had there been another Talent-wielder? Or a better-trained
force in Hyalt?

Alucius kept fretting and stewing.

When his latest lancer aide and guard left for a moment, after
Alucius had assured him that he would be fine alone for just a few
moments, Alucius struggled into a sitting position on the side of the
pallet, then levered himself along it until he was close enough to
reach his clothes and boots. Donning the trousers wasn't that hard,
but even the first boot was an effort. He'd just managed to get the
second one on when the lancer stepped through the doorless
arch.

"Sir!"

"I'll go mad if I lie here any longer," Alucius said. "Can you help me
with the tunic?"

"But… sir…"

"Just help me with the tunic."

The right arm had to go first, because he didn't have much of a
range of motion without feeling close to excruciating pain, and his
forehead was damp with sweat by the time he walked slowly from
the room and outside. He spotted a bench against the side of the
barracks, less than fifty feet away. Walking the fifty feet felt as
though it took as much effort as running ten times that would have if
he had been healthy.

Several lancers turned and watched.

"… see why… say he's tough… hurt… no one else'd be alive. A
day and he's walkin'…"

"… not real steady…"

"… you'd be flat… mountain fell on him, and he's walking… You try
that."

"… survived… so?"

"… he went in there… hundred and fifty lancers in there, and their
prophet… don't know how he did it, but he killed 'em all… How
many commanders you know do that? They'd send us and get us
all killed…"

That might be, reflected Alucius, but I'm beginning to understand
what Frynkel said about leading from the front. How many more
times could he do it and survive?

He settled onto the bench, his back against the plank wall, and
waited. He just hoped he didn't have to wait all that long, and that
his forces would return without too many casualties.

His thoughts drifted back to Adarat, the prophet. The man hadn't
been like any human Talent-wielder Alucius had encountered and
hadn't seemed to know what he was doing, but he was stronger
than any of the Matrial's Talent-officers. Yet he'd been totally
unaware of the vulnerability of his lifethread—and that hadn't been
like any of the ifrits. What exactly had created Adarat? The thought
that the ifrits could create—or change—someone into an
Adarat—that worried Alucius.

Even with the wristguard's warm pulse that told him Wendra was
healthy, he couldn't help worrying about Wendra and Alendra, and
whether he could finish with the rebellion and return to Iron Stem
before Alendra was born.

For all the worries, he must have dozed off for a time, because he
awakened to the sound of hoofs on the hard dirt. He had to hope
that the riders were his force, because he was in no shape to lift or
use a rifle, and there wasn't one handy for him to use even if he
had been able to shoot.

Feran rode in at the head of Fifth Company, his eyes scanning the
handful of wounded lancers who were watching. His eyes took in
Alucius, and he rode over toward the majer. "As soon as I get them
settled, I'll be back. We didn't take any casualties, but there's a lot
of work ahead."

"When you have time," Alucius replied. As the lancers rode by, he
watched. A number looked at him, and several, including Bakka
and Waris, nodded.

Almost half a glass passed before Feran reappeared, walking
quickly from the direction of the stables. He stopped several yards
short of Alucius and surveyed his commander.

"You shouldn't be up," Feran observed. "I've seen corpses left in
the sun for a week looking better. Sir and Majer."

"It wasn't doing me any good to lie on that pallet and fret. What
happened?"

"Not much. They had a few sentries, but they just stood there. We
killed maybe fifty rebels before we realized that they weren't
fighting and before I could order a stop to the shooting. That was
the problem. Half of their lancers… they'd follow a direct order…
but otherwise… they'd just stand there." Feran shook his head.
"Maybe fifty… quarter of those left, they'd already killed
themselves when we got there. Some just died, not a mark on
'em."

Alucius thought he understood the reason for Feran's delay in
returning. "What did you do?"

"What could I do? No point in shooting them. Sent Thirty-fifth
Company into Hyalt. Had Jultyr be real cautious. He didn't need to
be. The place is a mess. Mostly woman and girls, small boys. They
all look hungry. We put the rebel lancers who were left into saddles
and rode 'em into town. Turned them over to the women, and told
the women that they were in charge. A couple seemed to
understand."

"We'll have to help them get better organized," Alucius said.

"I figured that." Feran shook his head. "Town'll never be the same.
Not for years."

"Maybe. The women did all right in Madrien. We'll just have to see
if we can get them started. Make sure that they tear down those
roadblocks, and maybe do some beginning training for a patrol of
some sort to keep order."

"Who's going to be a problem?" asked Feran.

"Outsiders," Alucius said. "We'll also have to make sure our own
men don't take advantage of them… the women."

Feran lifted his eyebrows. "After this?"

"After this," Alucius said, "if our men abuse the women, the Lord-
Protector will be in the position of not only having ordered us to
butcher the men, but to abuse and rape the women. Do any of your
men want to be called the rapists of the north? How long do you
think we'd last in the south of Lanachrona with that kind of
reputation? And even if we could ride back to the Iron Valleys
because all the Southern Guards are tied up with the Regent… do
you want to risk it? What will happen to that stipend you've been
struggling for?"

"I'm not sure… one or two…" Feran offered.

"One or two we can survive, if there aren't any more. Make it really
simple. First, it's wrong. Rebels or not, they're our people. Second,
we killed all the guilty ones. Hurting the women is just punishing
them again for what their husbands and sons did, and they're going
to suffer enough for years. Third… if I discover another man who
does anything from this moment on, I'll kill him personally, weak as
I am. And if any officer doesn't enforce this, I'll send him back to
the Lord-Protector with a recommendation for discharge or worse."

"That won't help the Lord-Protector all that much," Feran pointed
out.

"Probably not," Alucius replied. "But I'd like to keep our lancers as
lancers, not barbarians. My orders are more for their good than for
the poor bastards left in Hyalt."

"You don't think we're done after we finish here?"

"No. Even if we head straight back to the Iron Valleys, we'll still
have to deal with the Regent there. And they'll put the Southern
Guard companies right into the battle order in the southwest. They
might get a week's rest. If they're lucky."

"I can see you're as cheerful as ever." Feran laughed harshly. "I
suppose that's a good sign."

"Tomorrow, we'll move into Hyalt and see what we can do."

"Tomorrow, sir, we'll move into Hyalt, and you'll just give the orders
and watch." Feran smiled. "You don't have to do everything
personally."

Not everything, Alucius thought, but more than he'd ever wished.
Chapter 72
Alustre, Lustrea

Waleryn stood above the corner workbench that all had ignored
until he had arrived at the Praetor's palace. After checking the
hidden metal mirror that acted as a Table-viewer—if but for short
periods of time—he opened the book that had been concealed in
the chamber beneath the mirror.

He looked at the first page quickly, nodding to himself, as well as at
the second and third. He continued flicking through the pages until
he reached one near the end. A smile crossed his lips as he
viewed Vestor's notes.

"Good."

After closing the book and replacing it in the small chamber, he
straightened and stepped from the smaller workbench to the
crystal tanks, all in use. His eyes closed for a moment, and the air
took on a purplish tint, just for an instant. Then Waleryn walked to
the far side of the second tank and, from another recess, extracted
a device resembling an antique gunpowder pistol.

The design was far more ancient, with the barrel a crystal
discharge formulator and the butt holding the crystal light-charges.
Waleryn removed one of the butt plates and slipped two small
amber crystals into the receivers, then replaced the plate and set
the weapon in the belt holster on his right side.

One by one, he checked the crystal tanks, nodding as he finished
with each.

Then he walked to the far end of the workshop, where a tripod held
an oblong device. The shorter and wider end held a pair of padded
grips. Above and between the grips was a flat metallic mirror, not
quite the size of a man's palm. The longer section ended in a circle
of pale orange crystals, each crystal extending the length of a
finger from the shimmering silvered metal.

"What is that?" Tyren stood five yards away, well to the side of
where the five crystals pointed. The Praetor was flanked by four
guards, each with a gladius in a scabbard on his left and a double-
barreled pistol in a holster on his right.

"You needn't worry, Praetor," Waleryn replied cheerfully. "This is
not a weapon."

"Then why did you construct it?" Tyren frowned. "Your efforts are
not without significant cost."

"To find an ancient weapon of even greater power. It is designed
to send forth… vibrations would be the best word. The vibrations
will echo from the ancient weapon and return. They will provide an
image in the mirror that will enable me to locate exactly where the
weapon might be."

"What ancient weapon do you seek that is so much more powerful
than those you and your predecessor have already created?"
Curiosity had crept into the Praetor's voice.

"You might have heard of the Scepters of the Day. Some called
them the Scepters of the Duarches. There were two, and one is
hidden somewhere in Lustrea. Or so it is said."

"Isn't that just a legend?"

"Some would claim that everything your engineer created and
everything I am constructing are only legends. Are they? Or would
you rather dismiss the crystal light lances as legend and ride into
battle trusting in lances and uncertain rifles?"

"Your point is made, Lord Waleryn." Tyren's voice was dry. "Just
how powerful is this scepter? And how much more will it cost me
for you to find it?"

"It will cost you nothing more. As I have time, and as I travel, I will
use the device. It will take little time. The scepter was powerful
enough that it was the tool that created the Tables and made the
Duarchy possible. Do you not think that a few golds and a little time
are worth seeking it? That search will not slow the production of
more and better weapons."

"So long as it does not."

"Have you decided whether I might go to Prosp and see if the
Table there still functions?"

Tyren slowly nodded. "You will go with a detachment of Praetorian
Guards, and you will keep me closely informed of your progress."

Waleryn bowed. "It would be my pleasure, and in my interest, and
yours."

"That it would be." Tyren nodded brusquely, then turned.

Waleryn waited until the Praetor had departed before he turned his
violet-purple eyes back to the locator.
Chapter 73

Even by Octdi, Alucius could barely walk, let alone ride. His entire
body was sore and bruised, and already turning purplish green in
far too many places. He was going to have another scar, this one
angled across his forehead. He had no recollection of how he had
gotten that, especially since he had been wearing the skull mask,
now tucked safely inside his tunic once more.

He and the officers had taken over a dwelling a block off the main
square in Hyalt, not the largest available, but sizable, and
apparently vacant, as were many in the town, and less than a
hundred yards from the inn and stables where Alucius had put Fifth
Company. The two Southern Guard companies were at work
making the camp just northeast of Hyalt habitable, since the old
Southern Guard garrison was far too small and was in even worse
condition. For the sake of the Lord-Protector, Alucius had thought
that the less the people of Hyalt saw of the Southern Guard, the
better. He had also dispatched a messenger to Tempre outlining
the results of the campaign thus far, noted his quartering
arrangements, and indicated that it might be as much as several
weeks before they could leave Hyalt and return to Tempre.

With all that done, late on that Octdi morning Alucius still had to
work not to grimace as he mounted the gelding under a gray sky
that threatened rain. After mounting, he eased the gray in the
direction of the main square. Beside him rode Waris, and behind
them were four other lancers. Feran had suggested a half squad,
at least, but Alucius had decided that five lancers were more than
enough, either for a show of strength or for any protection he might
need in his present condition.

From the three-story dwelling that had belonged to a merchant of
some sort, Alucius and his lancers rode northward as he began to
inspect Hyalt. No matter how accurate Feran's, Rakalt's, and
Waris's reports might be, their words did not convey the "'feel" of
Hyalt.

All the streets entering the main square were paved, but the north-
south main boulevard, as a part of the ancient high road, was of
eternastone, and Alucius had decided to begin with the square,
then spiral outward, to take in as much as he could.

The central square was a stone-paved expanse a hundred yards
on a side. In the center was a stone platform, raised a yard above
the surrounding pavement, without walls or railings. The stone
looked to be a gold-tinged marble whose edges had softened over
the years. Both the center of the square and the platform itself
were vacant. Not a single horse was tied to the hitching rails and
posts in front of the buildings fronting the square. Alucius slowed
the gray and studied each structure as he passed. The goldsmith's
shop was boarded shut, as was the adjoining coppersmith's shop.
The cotton factor's door was ajar, and Alucius thought he heard
voices, but one set of shutters had been ripped away and lay on
the narrow porch beside the door. Past the empty alley was a
fuller's shop, but that door was closed. Next came a cooperage,
and that door was open, and Alucius could smell the charcoal of a
forge.

"Most of the crafters and all of the merchants left," Waris said.

Alucius nodded. That agreed with what he thought—that Adarat
had not been an ifrit, or one of a weaker sort. It also suggested that
there could not be too many ifrits in Corus, not if what Adarat had
done represented the work of one being who was less than an ifrit.
Alucius still did not understand what the ifrits had hoped to
accomplish in Hyalt, and he had the feeling that riding around Hyalt
would not add much to his understanding of the secretive and
illusive ifrits, but it would offer him insights on what needed to be
done for the people.

The inn was the only building around the square that showed
activity, but that was because Fifth Company was quartered there.

Alucius kept riding, trying to ignore the soreness throughout his
body, and after his second spirallike widening circuit around the
square, he slowed his mount again as he rode toward a wall that
had once been whitewashed but which now needed stucco in too
many places and fresh whitewash everywhere. He could hear two
women talking. One was sobbing between words.

Alucius used his Talent, trying to pick up the words.

"Why… why… they killed our husbands… our sons… what did they
do?"

"What harm did the prophet do?"

What could Alucius say to such words, when people had not seen
the evidence before their eyes? When people believed, they could
not see what had happened. They saw what they wanted to have
seen.

"…have nothing… nothing at all… no horses, no sheep, no goats…
no sons…"

"… followed the prophet and the lamaial struck him down… and we
will never see the True Duarchy and its prosperity…"

"We will never see our sons, and for that I grieve far more…"

Alucius held in a wince. He had crushed the revolt—or the invasion.
He'd done it only by the very method that he knew would cause the
Lord-Protector unrest, discontent, and lasting resentment. And
Alucius had had absolutely no choice—not that he could see. From
the first moment he and his force had arrived, they had been
attacked, time after time, by Talent-washed rebels who had fought
poorly, but to the death.

And he still had no idea why, not when so much death could only
ruin a land, not bring the kind of prosperity that the prophet had
promised. The only thing he had learned—really—had been in
Adarat's last words, "… Neither you nor your ancient ones will
prevail against the glory of Efra…"

Was Efra the true name of the world from which the ifrits had
come? And did that pronunciation mean that somewhere on Corus
another contingent of ifrits had appeared?

Alucius kept riding and watching and taking in what he saw—and
worrying.
Chapter 74
Salaan, Lanachrona

The table displayed the image of a reddish hillside, the eastern
side of which appeared to have been cut away, with the section
that had been cut away heaped full of all sizes of boulders of
redstone and sandstone. To the east of the jumbled stone were
several long and low unpainted structures.

The Recorder looked up from the Table, and the scene that had
been before him and Tarolt vanished. "The majer has triumphed
over Adarat and his Cadmians."

"You expected otherwise, Trezun? Those steers were not real
Cadmians. Adarat was but a shadow-Efran, certainly capable
enough against un-Talented steers, but the majer is more than that.
Even so, he almost did not survive. He will not last against a true
Efran."

"That would seem to be so," the Recorder replied.

"It was not exactly a triumph for the majer and the Lord-Protector,"
Tarolt pointed out. "Hyalt lies in ruins, and we have most of the
golds. The larger part of the men and boys are dead, and all Corus
will know the Lord-Protector as the butcher of Hyalt. That is
something that we can make sure all the world knows." With a
smile, Tarolt stepped back from the Table.

"What of the majer? If he comes back to Dekhron, especially as
commander of the Northern Guard… ?"

"We have already taken steps to forestall that. It is likely he will go
to Southgate."

"Do you think the Lord-Protector will countenance that?"

"The Lord-Protector cannot object to what he does not know.
overcaptain Deen has proved most helpful in conveying ideas to
the marshals. He is so guileless and thinks he is so clever. That is
a weakness of so many steers. More important, this Alucius could
not withstand the crystal spear-thrower before, and there are two in
place there. Even if he can rally the Lord-Protector's troops and
defeat the Regent, what does he gain?"

"A substantial victory," suggested Trezun.

"That kind of victory is a triumph for us. The Lord-Protector has
little more than half the lancers he did two seasons ago. The
southwest of Corus is weakened and ready to accept any kind of
peace after five years of bleeding warfare. Majer Alucius cannot
win without creating even more death and destruction, and that is
what we need. He can only triumph through destruction, and that
paves the way for us. People do not wish glorious and destructive
battles. They wish peace and prosperity, and so long as the cost is
deferred, they will not look beyond tomorrow."

"What of Waleryn?"

Tarolt frowned. "You have great interest there. I hope that his
building the locator will not interfere—"

"I instilled strong conditions that it should not interfere—"

"You and Sensat and your concern about the scepters."

" We do not need them, but if we have them, then no lamaial or
ancient one can use them," Trezun pointed out.

"You have a point. Not the best, but a point, so long as it does not
interfere with the plan and the next translation. We must have more
true Efrans here… and yet so few wish to take the risk."

"When between a third and half perish? Or become wild
translations without thought or cognizance? Can you blame them?"

"When our future is at stake? Yes… I can. And I will. Far more will
perish if we do not receive greater support. Yet each wishes
another to take the risk."

"You were about to tell me how you think Waleryn will affect
matters." Trezun spoke quickly. "Does he have the shadow
matrices that he will require? One suitable for Tyren?"

"He has ten, and three would seem to match what he has scanned
of the Praetor, within acceptable parameters. He has also reported
that the Praetor is coming to Prosp to inspect the Table—before
he heads to Passera to ready his forces for the invasion of
Deforya."

"Deforya it will be, then. That will create enough disruption for the
next year, at least."

"Waleryn is well on the way to positioning Tyren so that the Praetor
will ask to use the Table… Once that happens, in time, the Praetor
will change his plans and concentrate on taking Deforya. The
landowners will have to fight, and they will lose. Then Tyren will
overreach himself and go south, and the plains will be filled with
chaos…"

"He could head more directly west into Lanachrona."

"He could, and if Majer Alucius survives, no doubt we would have a
larger and even bloodier series of battles."

"And what will happen if… just if… Majer Alucius does survive and
prosper? He seems to have the luck of the hero or the lamaial."

"Ah… that is the beauty of it," Tarolt replied. "The Regent must still
reclaim Harmony and Klamat. More unrest and destruction. Tyren
will build larger armies and rampage westward. While that goes on,
few will notice what we do and what we build, or that they act
against themselves. Let them struggle with their rifles and blades.
Their puny rifles and blades."
Chapter 75

By Duadi morning, there were people, mostly women, on the
streets of Hyalt, and some carts of produce had appeared. The
two roadblocks across the high roads had been torn down, and
Feran was working with a group of younger and huskier women to
create the core of a mounted city patrol. There were enough spare
mounts for that.

By midmorning, Alucius was sitting in the council chamber of Hyalt,
a block off the main square, interviewing women who seemed to
have some courage and intelligence, trying to use his Talent to find
a handful to administer the crippled town. After glancing over at
Bakka, who held a marker, with a short stack of paper before him
on the table, Alucius tried not to shift his weight too obviously in the
chair as he waited for the next group of women to file into the
chamber.

Four more women stepped inside the chamber, ushered by four
lancers.

An older gray-haired woman studied Alucius from the moment she
entered the hall. So did a blonde woman, although her
observations came from a lowered head and half-averted eyes. A
black-haired, good-looking woman with ruby lips surveyed Alucius
and smiled. Unlike the others, she looked well fed.

Alucius cleared his throat. "Whatever happened here in Hyalt is
over. What remains is to rebuild the town and maintain order.
Under the authority of the Lord-Protector, I am talking to anyone
who might be useful in this." He paused, looking for reactions.

"We're so fortunate to have your assistance," began the attractive
woman.

Alucius almost winced at the feeling of hypocrisy and greed that
radiated from her, but he inquired politely, "Your name?"

"Sanaval, sir."

Alucius turned to the lancer guards. "Take Sanaval and lock her
away with the others we're sending north."

The woman's mouth opened, almost wordlessly, as two of the
lancers moved to flank her.

"Every syllable you said was false and deceptive," Alucius replied.
"Hyalt doesn't need your kind right now. Take her away."

"Who are you to judge?" asked the stern-faced, gray-haired
woman.

"I'm judging because someone has to administer Hyalt, and we
need to find people who can, because that is not our task."

"Was your task just to bring down death on our men and sons?"
asked the thin red-haired woman, almost hissing the words at
Alucius.

He turned, and his eyes flashed. He tried to keep from exploding
with a rage that had appeared within him, seemingly from nowhere.
"Your men were so weak that they gave up their families, gave up
their work, and gave up their brains. They attacked the Lord-
Protector's scouts. They killed traders bringing in goods, perhaps
even food. We did not ride here to bring death. We rode here to
discover why the people of Hyalt were driving out merchants and
crafters and killing strangers. When we got here, we, too, were
attacked. Unlike the others, we could fight back." Alucius's eyes
fixed on the angry woman, and he projected both power and
assurance, trying to keep anger out of the sending. "There has
been enough killing. There has been too much. I am
choosing—from among your people—who will administer Hyalt. Do
you want to run in fear from every man on a horse with a sword or a
rifle?"

The woman shrank back, and Alucius turned his attention back to
the gray-haired woman.

"They were fools," she admitted. "Did that give you the right to kill
them?"

"Not until they tried to kill us and every other stranger," Alucius
replied. "Not until they refused to talk and only attacked. Do you
think that was right? Was it smart?"

"No. I am only a woman who sells vegetables and fruits from a
cart."

"Do you still have vegetables and fruits to sell?"

"Yes." The admission was wary.

"Then you have more sense than most in Hyalt," Alucius said dryly,
"What is your name?"

"Isaya."

Alucius nodded to Bakka, who inscribed the woman's name.

"Where do you live?"

"Off north road. You'd know. Your men near-dragged me here."

"Can you run the market square? Make sure what's sold is good?"

"Depends. Can't tell someone how many coins to charge…"

"No. What's charged has to be between buyer and seller. But Hyalt
doesn't need spoiled meat or weeviled grain being sold as good."

"Might be able to do that… if we've got that patrol you promised…"

Alucius nodded. Probably half of what he was trying to do wouldn't
work, but if he could put together some sort of organization, maybe
the women could sort it out themselves as fall progressed into
winter. He only knew that he had to try, and that if he sorted out the
truly rotten apples, or as many as he could, they might have a
chance.

His eyes turned to the nervous blonde woman. "What do you do?"

"I'm a seamstress… Leastwise, I was."

Alucius wondered how many more glasses and days he'd have to
work on trying to give the ruined town a chance at putting itself back
together. It could take seasons to do it right, but he didn't have
seasons. Besides, in the end, what was done rested on the
survivors in Hyalt.

But he was still angry about how matters had turned out.
Chapter 76

By Sexdi, Alucius was feeling somewhat better, enough for a ride
back out to the western camp of the prophet and the site of the
ruined temple. Feran insisted on accompanying Alurius with the
fourth and fifth squads of Fifth Company. Behind the squads came
a wagon, one filled with axes, bars, rock hammers, and other tools,
as well as some barrels of powder.

As they passed the open and abandoned south gates of the
encampment, with a cool and blustery wind whipping around them,
announcing the arrival of a cold fall season, Feran glanced at
Alucius. "You really think that you'll find useful supplies under all
that rock?"

"I hope so," replied Alucius.

"I know you. You have to be more than hoping."

"There's one thing we haven't resolved, and I should have thought
of it earlier," Alucius mused, his eyes taking in the rubbled base of
the hillside that had held the temple.

"Just one?" asked Feran, his tone dry.

"What happened to all the golds in Hyalt? No one seems to have
any, and yet people left things hurrying to leave. There were others
who said they gave everything to the prophet. But no one left Hyalt
after the first weeks, and we haven't found any strongboxes,
nothing."

"Oh… you think…?"

"I don't know, but it's worth looking into, and I really didn't want to
say much. If the acting council has some golds, they can buy some
food."

"You wouldn't send it to the Lord-Protector?"

"Why? What good would that do? If we find anything, we'll dole
some of it out to the most needy families who are left. Not that the
coins won't end up in certain pockets before long…" Alucius
snorted. "But it does more good spread around. If we can find
anything."

"If you find much, some of the men would think they should have
some."

"I'm sure they would," Alucius replied.

"You don't think so?"

"We'll worry about that if we find anything. I'm hoping we can at
least find some supplies, perhaps some ammunition or some flour
or dried or salted meat. That's always useful."

"You'd give that away, too?"

Alucius shook his head. "Lancers have a right to eat. They deserve
that."

"Aren't you splitting hairs?"

The majer laughed. "You really think that there's a huge treasure
out here, don't you?"

"I could hope," Feran replied good-naturedly.

"Let's see." Alucius had his doubts, but there had to be something.

They rode past the barracks and past the small building where
Feran had placed Alucius after the explosion and toward the ruined
hillside. Alucius reined up the gray almost at the base of the rubble
of irregular chunks of sandstone and redstone.

As the lancers in fourth squad unloaded the gear from the wagon,
Alucius studied the rubble with his Talent. As he had
suspected—or hoped—with his Talent he could sense an area to
the south of the main temple that seemed to hold goods. He rode
southward another ten yards, then motioned for a lancer to climb
up onto a smaller pile of stone.

"If you can lever away the slab on top…" Alucius studied the rock,
then nodded. "You see that dark patch there?"

The lancer with the rock hammer and chisel nodded.

"Put the chisel just below it… no… a little to the right. There's a
fracture there somewhere."

The lancer worked at it for almost a tenth of a glass, then leapt up
and stepped back. With a long and slow craaackk, the sheet of
sandy rock split, and the lower half slid off the rounded redstone
below, breaking into smaller fragments.

Just underneath the remaining slab, Alucius could see the square
corner of a passageway. "There!" He gestured.

"How'd he know that… ?" came a murmur from somewhere.

"You don't want to know…"

"Clear the rock away from the doorway," Alucius ordered.

While he wanted to help, he forced himself to watch as lancers
cleared away the remaining rock. That took more than three
glasses, and he was grateful that the day was cool and breezy. The
efforts also reminded him that finding out things and coming up
with ideas were far easier than the grunt work necessary to
implement those ideas.

Once the last bits of rubble had been removed, it was clear that the
tunnel deeper into the hillside had not been touched by the effects
of the blast set off by Adarat.

Alucius dismounted, then gestured to the lancers with the pry bars
and hammers. "You all did the work. We'll go in together." He
pointed to Kasaff, who had single-handedly moved large chunks of
the rubble. "Do you want to lead the way?"

Kasaff grinned. "Just so you're right there, sir."

"Smart lancer," Alucius quipped.

Laughter rumbled across the squad.

Alucius stepped into the passageway, stone smoothed years
before, certainly not at all recently, and walked toward the door on
his left.

The first room was but half-full and contained several barrels of
dried and salted beef, almost ten huge wedges of hard cheese,
and more than a score of barrels of flour. There was one barrel of
dried fruit and what looked to be a barrel of wine.

The second room held, unsurprisingly, cases of ammunition, but
not a single rifle.

The third room, well to the back, was locked, with the large lock
attached to a heavy hasp.

"Need a hammer, like as a whole forge, to cut that," offered Kasaff.

Alucius slipped out his belt knife and stepped toward the lock.
"Maybe not." He stood so that no one behind him could see what
he was doing and pretended to work at the keyhole with the point
of the knife, as he wrestled with the internal workings of the lock
with his Talent.

How long that took, he wasn't certain, but his face was dripping
sweat when the lock popped open. He stepped back, handing the
open lock to Quesal. Before trying the door lever, he cast a Talent-
probe into the room behind the door, but he could sense nothing in
the nature of an obvious trap. Then, he opened the door and let it
swing wide.

The room was small, a strong room no more than three yards on a
side, with but three chests side by side on a crude waist-high
bench. The chests were closed, but not locked.

Again, pausing, Alucius extended his Talent, but aside from a
lingering trace of ifrit purple, there was no sign of anything besides
wood and metal.

He opened the first chest. Less than half-full, it contained golds,
but not an extraordinary number for the treasure taken from a
city—certainly no more than a thousand coins, if that. The second
chest held the silvers, and there were perhaps slightly more than a
thousand. The last chest was almost empty, holding only a hundred
or so coppers.

Alucius stood by the chests, letting every lancer who wanted to
come down the passageway and look at them. Then, once the
chests were loaded onto the wagon, he assembled the two squads
and began to speak to them.

"I had all of you look at the chests. I wanted you to see what was
there. I'd like to tell the others what we found, but I also want you to
understand what we did not find," He paused. "We did not find all
that was stolen from Hyalt. Nor will we. It is spread across Corus.
Think of this.

"What we found is what is left. It seems large, but it is not, not for
the wealth of a large town. It is not enough to pay the payroll of the
Northern Guard for a season. I doubt if it would pay the Southern
Guard for a month. Without these coins, the people of Hyalt will
starve this winter. Even with them, many will die. The coins will go
back to the people from whom they came because the coins were
stolen from them, and taking them from here would only make us
no better than those we defeated. Worse, it would make us thieves
as well. That's all."

He turned the gray and gestured to Feran.

"Column! Forward!"

After they had ridden out through the abandoned gates, Feran
looked at Alucius. "Some of them still won't like it."

"I know they won't."

"They'll say you're a rich herder, and you can afford it, and they
can't."

Alucius's laugh was bitter, but there was little he could say that
anyone would understand. He was well-off, but not wealthy. He'd
been blackmailed into commanding a force on an unpopular
mission, leaving his family to fight off Talent-creatures without
him—but saying all of that would convince no one. He just knew
that starving people in order to line lancers' pockets was wrong.
The people well might perish anyway, but he wasn't about to make
matters worse than they had to be.
Chapter 77

Alucius walked into the Hyalt council chambers in mid-afternoon on
Octdi. The two women and the wiry white-haired man who sat along
one side of the long table looked up at him.

"I just thought I'd see how you were doing," Alucius said politely.

"The coin will help," offered Asala, the younger woman, perhaps
the age of Alucius's mother.

"That was all?" asked Birtraf. "Much more was given to him, I would
judge."

"That was all. I'd guess that he had to pay high prices for the
weapons and ammunition, and for the uniforms. Were there any
traders who came here with large wagons?"

"There were several. They came on the road from Syan, and their
wagons bore the symbol of a silver wheel. I had not seen them
before the last spring."

"They probably have most of the coin." Traders from the east, or
the north? Ones that no one had seen before? Could they have
come all the way from Lustrea? Or could they have been the
traders who had become more active in Dekhron? Kustyl had said
that they had become far more adventurous and effective. Were
they somehow tied in with the ifrits? But why would ifrits need coin?

"Majer… how long do you intend to remain in Hyalt?"

"I would judge that it will not be long. I sent my report to Tempre a
week ago. That's one reason why we have tried to get as much
done as we could."

"For a conqueror, Majer, you have wielded a tight lash. I wish that I
could say more," offered Asala.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Alucius said. "I only wish that none
here had followed Adarat."

"So do we," replied Birtraf, "but where was the Lord-Protector
when we needed protection against a false prophet? Waging an
unnecessary war in Madrien?"

Alucius had to struggle to bite back a harsh retort. He paused, then
replied, "There are always false prophets, and no ruler can protect
his people from foolishness." He forced a polite smile. "If you have
no more questions…"

None of the three offered a word.

"Then, good day. I will let you know when we will be departing."
Alucius nodded, turned, and left the chamber.

Why did people always resent a ruler, despite expecting him to
protect them from their own stupidity? Then, he reflected, Adarat
had used Talent to get people to act against their wills. But what
ruler could detect that, let alone fight it?

Alucius walked back to the unofficial officers' quarters as fast as he
could. Not that there was any rush, but because it was yet another
way of working out his sore muscles, although the majority of his
bruises had faded into a pale yellow and purple.

Two Southern Guard lancers stood waiting inside the foyer of the
dwelling. Both stiffened to attention as Alucius entered.

"Majer, sir!" snapped the older, extending an envelope. "A dispatch
from Marshal Frynkel, sir."

Alucius took the envelope, forcing a pleasant smile. "Thank you.
Our quarters, for now, are in the inn on the square. Once I've read
this, I'll have a response. It's not likely to be immediate."

"Yes, sir." The dispatch rider cleared his throat. "We're to wait for a
response."

"I'm sure that waiting at the inn will prove far more comfortable.
You've had a long and a hard ride. I'll make sure you know as soon
as my reply is ready."

"Yes, sir."

Neither dispatch rider said a word even after they had stepped
outside. Alucius took the still-sealed envelope through the archway
into the front parlor and study. There, he used his belt knife to slit
the end of the envelope. There were two pages inside. The first
sheet was a dispatch addressed to Alucius. He began to read.

Majer Alucius—

Congratulations and our deepest appreciation for your most
effective efforts. Your report on the resolution of the unrest in Hyalt
was most welcome news to the Lord-Protector, and he has asked
me to convey his great and deep appreciation for your efforts…

Alucius stiffened. When someone else was conveying
appreciation, there was trouble ahead, or words that he needed to
peruse most carefully. He continued reading.

He was also most pleased at the comparatively low casualties, for
which you are also to be most highly commended, for qualified
lancers are most urgently needed.

I must regretfully inform you that the Regent of the Matrial has
undertaken a massive assault against our forces surrounding
Southgate and that Marshal Wyerl has perished in battles to the
north of Southgate in the defense of the city and the port. Marshal
Alyniat has taken over the defenses and has rushed all available
lancers westward to combat her forces and crystal spear-throwers.

In this time of crisis, when all the lands east of Madrien are
threatened, the Lord-Protector requests that you complete what
you can within the next two days in setting Hyalt back on the proper
path toward rebuilding. Upon that timely conclusion, he would ask
your sufferance to take your force to Zalt and from there to
Southgate, to place yourself and your companies under the
command of Marshal Alyniat or the commanding marshal, of
course, as you see fit as a loyal officer of the Northern Guard.

If you choose to accept this request, the attached formal orders
are yours to use as necessary.

The dispatch was signed by Marshal Frynkel, Acting Arms-
Commander of Lanachrona.

Alucius looked at the last few words, once more, before rereading
the entire sheet. Then he took out the second sheet and read it.
Those orders directed him to report to Marshal Alyniat or the
commanding marshal. If he found no marshal in command, he was
to coordinate with the officer in charge at his own discretion. That,
in itself, was frightening.

It also made him more than a little angry. He had a wife who was
expecting a child, and once more he was being forced into riding
off and solving another problem that wasn't of his making. And if he
didn't, both Wendra and Alendra—and most of the Iron
Valleys—would probably suffer.

"What is it?"

Alucius looked up to see Feran standing in the archway to the
study.

"I heard that we'd gotten some dispatch riders," Feran offered. "I'd
hoped we'd get some word on when we could head back to
Dekhron."

"That might be a little difficult," Alucius said. "We've been
'requested' to try to save the Lord-Protector in Southgate."

"What? He's not in Southgate, is he?"

"No… but the Regent of the Matrial is pressing toward the city, and
Marshal Wyerl has been killed. Alyniat has taken over command
there, and Frynkel is now Arms-Commander of Lanachrona."

"Smells worse than a putrefying sow's belly…" muttered Feran.
"Do we have any choices?"

"It's only a request." Alucius snorted. "Yes, we could choose to
ignore it or decline it. Then what?"

"We'd stay alive," Feran suggested. "We wouldn't get chopped up
in a war between a desperate ruler and a crazy woman."

"What about the two Southern Guard Companies? They'd get sent
there right away and get chopped up. And where would that
stipend of yours go when they discharged you on the spot when
we got back to Dekhron?"

"You could refuse… you don't need a stipend," Feran pointed out.

"I could, and the Lord-Protector could pull every company of
Northern Guards south to save Southgate or even Tempre, if it
comes to that. It might, because the Regent has two of those
spear-throwers and is using them both in the south. Then, within
seasons, if not weeks, I'd have neither family nor stead, either
because we'd be overrun or we'd have no one to sell nightsilk to."

"Majer…" Feran's voice carried a trace of resignation with the irony.
"You're always pointing out these small unpleasantnesses. You
won't even let me entertain a brief dream that someone might keep
their word or reward us for a job well done."

"Desperate rulers don't reward anyone."

"I know." Feran shook his head. "We'll ride out on Decdi."

"Londi. According to this, we get two full days to complete our
work, and if we're headed west, we need every moment to make
sure we're ready." Alucius also needed to write a final report on
Hyalt—and he wanted to make sure that the Lord-Protector knew
about the merchants with the silver wheel emblem who had
skimmed off golds from the prophet's coffers.

Feran nodded slowly.

Alucius had no idea what it took to get ready to fight something like
a crystal spear-thrower. He certainly hadn't been that successful
the first time. But then, he hadn't known much about Talent.

Would what he had learned help? He had no doubt that he'd find
out. His lips tightened, and he had to take a deep breath in order to
try to relax some. The tension didn't help his still-sore muscles.
Chapter 78

Londi morning was cool, almost chilly, with a misty drizzle drifting in
from the northwest off the distant Coast Range. Four Fifth
Company lancers waited in front of the quarters as Alucius
strapped his gear behind the gray's saddle and then mounted,
easing his mount beside Feran. Then the two rode toward the main
square, where Fifth Company was already forming up.

Alucius, as a matter of habit, used his Talent to scan the area, but
even with the reduced population of Hyalt, there were far too many
bodies for his skills to sort out any who might be dangerous. All he
could determine was that there were no ordered groups anywhere
around the square—except for Fifth Company.

"I'd be a lot happier to leave here if we were headed north of the
Vedra, north and east especially," Feran said quietly.

"So would we all. Life isn't always that accommodating."

"You mean rulers aren't," Feran suggested.

Alucius offered a wry smile and a nod.

The two officers reined up on the north end of the square, waiting
for the last of the squad leaders to report to Egyl.

"Fourth squad, present and accounted for."

"Fifth squad, present and accounted for."

Egyl turned and rode the few yards to Feran, reining up and
reporting, "Fifth Company, present and accounted for, sir. Ready
to ride."

"Thank you," Feran said, turning to Alucius. "Ready to ride, Majer."

"Let's go."

"Fifth Company! By squads! Forward!"

Fifth Company rode at a comfortable walk out of the square on the
ancient eternastone pavement that was the high road north toward
Tempre. Six days ahead lay the intersection with the southwest
high road to Zalt—and Southgate beyond.

A block out of the square, on the left side of the wide street that
was also the high road, stood the three members of the temporary
council, watching as the lancers passed. Not a one spoke or
gestured as Fifth Company passed.

"Not terribly friendly," Feran observed.

"I don't know as I would be, were I in their boots," observed
Alucius. "We killed hundreds of their husbands and sons and
brothers. To them, it doesn't matter that we didn't have much of a
choice."

"Suppose they didn't, either." Feran shook his head. "Talent's a
bad thing all around. Seems like you and the other herders are the
only ones ever used it right. Everyone else is using it to kill or
conquer or enslave someone else. What's the difference with
herders?"

Before answering, Alucius surveyed the dwellings and shops on
both sides of the avenue. More than half still appeared deserted,
but even those that seemed to hold inhabitants were run-down, with
stucco chipped away, and dingy walls whose whitewash had long
since turned to yellowed white or pinkish white. The dilapidation
had clearly existed for years before the prophet had taken hold of
Hyalt.

Had the decline of Hyalt, and the poverty that had crept in, made
the prophet's efforts that much easier? Or had he been there all
along, undermining the town's prosperity? Or had the latest
prophet been the one? When they were all called Adarat, how
could he tell? Alucius hadn't been able to get a straight answer
from anyone, and doubted that he ever would. Or that anyone
would.

"I don't know as herders are any different from other folks in how
they feel," Alucius said slowly. "Except in one thing. They love the
land and being one with it. The land is more important than they
are. It's bigger than they are. Maybe that makes a difference,
believing in something bigger than golds, or a dwelling, or power
over people."

"You think that's true of all herders?"

"No," Alucius admitted. "Only those that survive as herders."

"You've never wanted to be a lancer, have you?"

"Only because I wanted to keep the stead."

"That's the hold they have over you—the land, isn't it?"

"For a herder, that's a powerful hold," Alucius pointed out. The
image of the Aerial Plateau rising in the east, over the endless
vingts of sand and quarasote, appeared in his mind, and he wished
he were there with Wendra, with the flock, and with his family. He
took a slow, deep breath. If he did not succeed in the weeks
ahead, he would not ever have that opportunity.

"If all rulers were herders, then, maybe we wouldn't have all this
fighting." Feran's words were light, but not quite humorous.

"Who knows?" Alucius countered. "It won't ever happen."

"Probably not," Feran agreed.

Alucius did not reply. As he rode northward through the light drizzle
toward the camp where they would pick up the Southern Guard
companies, Alucius could not help but think about Hyalt and what
had happened there. One man, had appeared, something other
than a man but less than the ifrits he had seen, and he had turned a
functioning town, not the most prosperous, but not the poorest or
meanest, either, into a collection of followers without wills. Was that
what the temptation of Talent in its strongest manifestations led to?
Chapter 79

The drizzle and the mist had lasted for two days, then dissipated
during the morning after the three companies had left the manned
way station at Ceazan, along with Elbard and some of the wounded
likely to recover over the ride to Southgate. Alucius had also sent
off his final report on Hyalt from there, along with an apologetic
letter to Wendra, explaining only that he had been ordered to deal
with other matters that affected their future and safety, and that he
was most unhappy to be away from the stead at such length.

Four days later, they had turned onto the west high road, then a half
day later southwest onto the high road that would lead through the
Coast Range and into what had been southern Madrien, eventually
to Zalt, then to Southgate. Two days after starting southwest on the
high road to the coast, under a cool fall sun, they were nearing the
eastern side of the Coast Range. Thirty-fifth Company was in the
van, and Alucius rode beside Jultyr.

"You know… things in Hyalt could have turned really nasty,
especially that night when that prophet used Talent to put everyone
into a deep sleep." Jultyr frowned. "How did you and the
overcaptain manage to wake up?"

"I had a nightmare about being unable to move," Alucius admitted.
"It took a long time to wake up. It took longer to rouse enough
lancers to fight off the attack. If they'd brought a full company…
things would have been very bad." Just how bad, Alucius had
considered more than a few times. He'd also wondered about how
he would ever deal with the ifrits if he ever had to face more than
one at a time.

"Good thing they didn't," affirmed Jultyr. "Can't say I'm all that
pleased to be heading west so soon. A lot of the men are going to
have the wrong idea about righting from dealing with the rebels."

"That blade cuts two ways. The Matrites fight better than the rebels,
and they have better weapons and training, but most of them won't
keep coming with wounds gaping open."

"That's true," mused Jultyr. "What about that knife-thrower? Have
you seen that?"

"Yes. It's more like a spear-thrower. It fires a stream of crystal
spears about a half yard long. One time they chopped away a hill
with it and flushed out a whole company of foot."

"You were there?"

"That was when they invaded the Iron Valleys." Alucius decided
against mentioning that he'd been wounded and captured in the
battle to destroy the weapon. Or that he only had the vaguest idea
of how the weapon had been destroyed.

"They've got two of them now. That was what Dostak said. Wager
that they're both near Southgate."

"I won't take that wager."

"That's the problem with being a lancer," Jultyr went on. "You do a
good job, and what happens? They give you something worse."
The older captain shook his head. "You can't risk doing a bad job,
'cause that might kill you, but sometimes the lancers who survive
doing it badly make out better than the good ones. They get
assigned to trade stations or as orderlies somewhere."

"There's some truth in that." Alucius shifted his weight in the
saddle. Most of the time now, he didn't notice the residual stiffness
and soreness, but every so often something twinged, reminding
him that he still wasn't fully healed.

"More 'n a little," said Jultyr. "You been awarded every decoration
in three lands, and here you are, headed back against the Matrites.
You did too good a job, sir. Look where it got you."

"We did the job in Hyalt," Alucius replied, ignoring the references
to his previous accomplishments. "It took all three companies. Any
less, and the prophet would have overrun us."

"We won't be running into much Talent with the Matrites, do you
think?"

"They didn't have much before. We can hope that they don't now."
Two crystal spear-throwers would be more than enough to cause
misery and death. Of that, Alucius was certain.
Chapter 80
Tempre, Lanachrona

The Lord-Protector stepped past the guards into his private
apartments, throwing the door bolt behind him. His boot heels
echoed on the marble of the foyer, carrying ahead of him into the
sitting room where Alerya sat with young Talus in her lap, both
mother and son bathed in the warm glow from the lamps set on the
end tables on either side of the love seat.

"Here comes your father… can you say, 'Da!'?" Alerya turned
toward the Lord-Protector, but did not rise.

Talus smiled and gurgled.

Alerya's smile faded as she beheld Talryn's face. "I'm sorry.
Whatever it is, it must have been a very bad day."

"They're all bad now, except when I'm with you." The Lord-
Protector smiled warmly at his consort and son, but the smile
faded. He stepped forward to the love seat, then bent down and
scooped his son from his consort's arms. "How's my boy? Did you
have a good day?" His arms enfolded his son.

"He's usually good. He was a little fussy. I think he might be getting
his first teeth." Alerya stood. "Would you like some wine?"

"I'd like the whole decanter, but I'd pay for it later." Talryn smiled
once more at Talus. "Wouldn't I, young fellow?" He shifted his son
to his shoulder, patting his back. "It's good to see you in such fine
fettle."

"Talryn… he just ate…"

Alerya's voice died away with Talus's satisfied burp.

"Oh, dear… that was a good tunic," Alerya said, taking Talus back
and handing the Lord-Protector a square of white cotton.
"Perhaps… if you hurry…"

Talryn laughed, taking the cloth and doing what he could to wipe
away the damage. "At least, he doesn't know any better. Unlike my
marshals and advisors."

After folding the soiled cloth and setting it on the nearest end table,
the Lord-Protector moved to the side table, where he stood and
poured half a glass of a deep red wine into the waiting goblet.

"Do you want to tell me?" Alerya asked.

"Who else can I tell? Honestly, that is?" He took a sip of the wine.
"You recall Majer Alucius?"

"The herder majer, the one you owe?"

"You won't ever fail to remind me of that, will you?"

"No. I feel we owe him even more, but I cannot say why, and it is
not wise for a ruler to forget what he owes and to whom."

"You're right, dear. That is why I am not in the best of moods. I
found out that Frynkel, that paragon of duty, used my seal and
ordered Majer Alucius to Southgate." Talryn set his goblet on the
side table.

"Frynkel did what?" asked Alerya. "I can't believe he sent an order
under your seal without your approval. How could he? How could
he dare?"

"It wasn't exactly an order. He was more clever than that. It was a
request from me. A request, almost begging. He was quite proud
of it. Oh… sometimes, the legacies that we bear."

"What will you do?"

"What he expects. A reprimand and dismissal for him if Majer
Alucius succeeds, and Frynkel's execution if Alucius fails."

"He would expect execution?"

"He might. He might not. It is a measure of our situation that he
would do this, knowing how I feel. No matter how desperate the
situation… Frynkel deserves execution. At the least, I should sign
my own requests, do my own treachery." Talryn's voice was cold.
"Yet… there is no one half so well qualified as Frynkel left."

"Can't you change the order?"

"Majer Alucius is almost in Zalt. What will happen will happen."

"You really are desperate, dearest, aren't you?"

"I have no more lancers to spend. I've lost my best marshal. For all
I know, I've already lost Alyniat as well."

"Couldn't you just have the lancers retreat to the old borders?"

"I could. Then I would have to have them fight the Matrites there
without Majer Alucius. Perhaps in weeks at worst, in a year at best.
And I would have both those crystal spear-throwers sent at
Tempre. The Regent is far worse than the Matrial was… far
worse." Talryn laughed. "That is why one removes a ruler at some
risk. One never knows who may succeed. Not that I had the
slightest to do with the mysterious death of the Matrial."

"It is unlikely that the majer can save our forces, is it not?"

"Unlikely, yes. It is not impossible. He has accomplished the
impossible before. More than once, I suspect. It is indeed
impossible to hold on to Southgate and the southern high road
without him. And that is what is so miserable and unfortunate about
Marshal Frynkel's 'request' under my seal. I suppose I'm as angry
at my own weakness as at his actions. Frynkel knows that I hesitate
to do the less than honorable, and he knew that we could not delay,
not and have any hope of success in saving Southgate."

"Is it that vital?"

"The Praetor of Lustrea is building up his forces to take Illegea and
Ongelya, then Deforya. Or perhaps the other way around. When all
is done, there will be but two lands controlling Corus. We will be
one of them, or we will be dead." Talryn shrugged. "I did not create
this situation. The Matrial and the old Praetor and perhaps Aellyan
Edyss shoved the first stones out of their positions and began the
avalanche, even before I became Lord-Protector. I have been
dealing with what they began, and my choices have always been
few."

"They are all dead. Does that not tell you something?"

"Yes, my dear. It tells me that I must be most careful." He eased
Talus from Alerya's arms and into his own. "It tells me that I must
enjoy those loves and pleasures that I have, for each season may
be the last." He gently wrapped his arms around his son for several
moments, then straightened and let Alerya take Talus. "I suppose
we should eat. There is little need to suffer hunger as well."

"Talus will be up for a time."

"He can stay with us, can he not?"

Alerya smiled softly. "Of course."

The three walked toward the small private dining room.
Chapter 81

On a Septi afternoon, seven days after starting through the Coast
Range, Alucius was riding with Feran at the head of the column.
His past knowledge of the back roads and old lumber camps in the
Coast Range and the western hills below had proved useful in
finding several encampments with some shelter and water. He'd
never mentioned it, just sent out scouts to various places, and
most of them had reported what he had recalled.

Now, the valley holding Zalt spread out before them to the west.

"You can see Senob Post to the right of the high road, just before
this road intersects with the range road from the north. Senob was
what they called it then, anyway." Even without standing in the
stirrups, Alucius could make out the redstone walls, high enough to
be visible from at least four vingts away. "The town is all in the
northwest quarter of where the two high roads join. The range road
ends about a hundred yards beyond the junction. I always
wondered if the builders had meant to go farther south and had
been working on the road when the Cataclysm struck."

Feran looked at him.

"I was stationed here once," Alucius said. "Remember?"

"I knew you were a Matrite captive squad leader. You never said
where."

"Here and in Hieron, but just for a short time there."

"Then you know more about what's west?"

Alucius shook his head. "I know most of the back roads between
Zalt and the old border to the east, but I never went farther west
than a few vingts from Zalt. I know the road north from here, but not
the coast road." He turned in the saddle. "Egyl? Were you always
in the north?"

"Yes, sir. Except the one time we went to Hafin. So far as I know,
none of the veterans you brought back were ever in the south."

"Thank you." Alucius turned back to Feran.

"Are you sure that all these places aren't what turned your hair
gray?" Feran's expression and tone were deadpan, but Alucius
could sense the amusement behind the lack of expression.

"No. I was just born worried. Herders are, you know."

"For someone so worried, you're awfully eager to get into nasty
positions."

"That's only to avoid nastier ones," Alucius quipped back.

"You're still an optimist, I see."

"Always."

As they neared the former Senob Post, the road flattened, and
they rode past weathered earthen berms to the south—the site of a
former Southern Guard attack base, one that Alucius remembered
all too well. His lips curled into a faint and ironic smile.

Before that long, they were approaching the post itself, almost a
vingt east of where the high roads intersected. The post had walls
half a vingt on a side and four yards high. The heavy timbered
gates were bound with dark iron and were open. Each was only
about three yards wide. The paving stones of the approach lane
and the courtyard were dusty, and there were faint streaks of rust
on the huge iron hinges of the gates. As he rode through the gates,
Alucius scanned the second, inner gates, designed to be closed
by sliding forward along channels in the stone paving. He could
see all too much sand and grit in the channels, and those channels
had always been clean when Alucius was a Matrite squad leader.

They had barely reined up in the wide, stone-paved courtyard when
four lancers and a gray-haired colonel appeared, moving quickly.

Alucius recognized him. "Colonel Jesopyr. Majer Alucius. We're
under orders to Southgate and Marshal Alyniat."

"Majer Alucius! I had heard that we might be seeing some
reinforcements headed to Southgate, but I hadn't expected you.
And a majer now!" Jesopyr beamed. "Not that you're not most
welcome. Most welcome."

Alucius smiled wryly. "We have three companies here, the Fifth
from the Northern Guard, and the Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth
from the Southern Guard. The Lord-Protector prevailed upon me."

"I imagine he did." Jesopyr looked to Feran and back to Alucius.
"You and your overcaptain will be our honored guests for the
evening meal. You'd be our guests in any case, but you're most
honored. It's scarcely every day we have the only officer who's
won the stars of three nations and lived to tell of it. I even have a
few bottles of a good vintage left."

"We'll enjoy that. As I said, we've got three companies here. Can
you handle that?"

"We're down to three squads. I doubt you'll be a problem. Jeron
and Ghujil here will help get your men settled. The officers'
quarters aren't bad, and they're in the wing just ahead. There aren't
any senior officers' quarters, so pick whatever empty rooms suit
you."

"Thank you."

The two lancers stepped forward.

"The stables are ahead and to the right," Alucius said.

"Column, forward!"

Alucius left Feran and the captains to sort out quarters for the
lancers and squad leaders. After unsaddling and grooming the
gray, he quickly took one of the vacant officer's rooms—he had the
feeling it had once been Captain Dynae's, the commander of
Thirty-second Company when Alucius had been a Matrite
lancer—and headed for the library, on the off chance that some of
the maps might have been left, at least the older ones.

As he walked down the stone-floored corridor, he couldn't help but
note that the floors were dusty and had lost the gleaming polish of
the days when he'd been a Matrite lancer and later a squad leader.
Most of the wall lamps were missing from their brackets, and the
walls showed smears here and there that Captain Hyrlui would
never have tolerated when she had commanded the Matrite
outpost. Alucius shook his head. How the years had changed
things.

At the end of the corridor, he stopped, then stepped toward the
door behind which there had once been a library. He pressed on
the lever, and the door opened. He stepped inside, closing the
door behind him and looking across the shelves. From what he
could tell, the library remained much as he recalled, with even the
map racks in one corner. Some of the shelves were emptier than
he remembered, but it appeared as though most of the books
remained. Alucius found it hard to believe that the library had been
left, but then, books were heavy and on short notice hard to burn.
Also, they were all written in Madrien, and the library was close to
the officers' quarters, which might have discouraged wanton
vandalism.

Alucius found that one of the wall lamps actually had oil, and
between his belt knife and his Talent, got it clean enough to burn.
He put it in the sconce over the desk he'd used years before to
study maps, and lit it. Then he began to search for what he
needed, stacking the most likely maps and books on one side of
the desk.

The first thing he needed to find was to see if the way stations on
the highway to Southgate were shown anywhere. Then, he wanted
to see if there were topographical maps of the hills around
Southgate. He thought there might be, because there had been
such maps for all of Madrien, clearly copies of more ancient ones,
but most topography didn't change that rapidly.

Almost two glasses passed before the door opened.

Feran peered in the doorway. "Someone said you might be here.
What are you doing?"

Alucius did not look up. "Studying the maps for the areas to the
west."

"How did you—You've used this library before?"

"Years ago. I hoped it was still here."

Feran stopped and picked up one of the dusty volumes, opening it,
then setting it down. "It's in Madrien… I guess."

"They all are," Alucius said absently, jotting down the vingtage
between back roads on the northeast sector outside Southgate.

"You read Madrien, too?"

"I learned when I was here."

"I should have known…" Feran shook his head. "I suppose you've
read every book in here."

"No. Some of them. Pretty near all the histories and map books.
Some of the tactics manuals."

"We're supposed to be in the mess before long. The colonel
seems fond of you."

"I like him. He's honest and says what he means. They were smart
to put him in charge of the outpost here." Alucius jotted down the
last of the figures. "I may have to take some of these maps. No
one else seems to have known they were here."

"How would they?"

"They could have looked," Alucius suggested, rising from behind
the map desk. "Let me go wash up, and I'll join you in a moment."

"You keep thinking that the rest of us should be as bright as you
are, Majer, reading and speaking three languages, and…
whatever…" Feran snorted. "We aren't. We're just poor lancer
officers who didn't want to be crafters or holders, slaving until we
died."

Alucius stopped. He looked at Feran. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have
been short."

"You weren't short… but sometimes you forget…" Feran left the
words hanging.

"I won't be long."

As he headed for the washroom, Alucius considered Feran's
words. He certainly didn't think he was that much brighter than most
officers. There was so much he didn't know, and it made sense to
figure out as much as possible before it was too late. But he had
been born with advantages—his grandsire, for one, and his
mother, for another. And he'd gained another advantage with
Wendra. Feran was right. Most lancers were in either the Northern
Guard or Southern Guard because their alternatives were worse.
The Guard life was better than what they had known. For Alucius, it
was to be handled as a means to holding on to what he had
outside the Guard, and his life outside the Guard was better than in
it.

He washed quickly and was relieved to get a smile from Feran
when he rejoined the older officer outside the mess.

"The colonel said something about good wine?" asked Feran.

"He offered very good wine when he was in charge of Krost Post."

"I could use some."

"Sirs?"

Alucius turned to see Deotyr and Jultyr walking down the inside
corridor toward them.

The four entered the mess together to find Colonel Jesopyr and a
captain waiting.

"Colonel," offered Alucius.

"Majer. This is a treat for Captain Kuttyr and me," added the
colonel, "These days, our mess usually is just the two of us."

"We're happy to enlarge your table," Alucius declared. "In fact,
we'll be here for another day, if at all possible. We've been on the
road for nearly two weeks, and—"

"Say no more! You and your men are more than welcome."
Jesopyr walked to the table against the wall. There he picked up
one of the ten or so amber-colored bottles set at the back. He
twisted the corkscrew, 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 could cart here." He opened a
second bottle as well, then gestured. "Do be seated. Majer… here,
Overcaptain… You captains sit where you want."

Jesopyr stepped back to the table and half filled the plain glass
goblet before Alucius, then filled the other five goblets, emptying
the first bottle in the process. Then he lifted his own goblet. "To
our guests. May they travel to Southgate in health and once more
serve the cause of freedom both effectively and successfully, and
may we see them all upon their safe return."

"Thank you." Alucius lifted his own goblet. "And to your hospitality."

The wine was good, but even Alucius could tell it was not as good
as what the colonel had been able to offer at Krost years earlier.
Then, it was far better than anything Alucius had tasted in some
time, except for the white wine at Krost on the way to Hyalt.

"The food is somewhat plainer here," the colonel said.

A pair of troopers in white jackets appeared. The plates they set
before each officer held a single round slice of something,
covered with a dark glaze.

"Cactus heart, with berry glaze," explained Jesopyr. "No one in
Madrien knows how good it is, and so we have it to ourselves."

Alucius wondered if it tasted like prickle, and took a small slice to
begin with. He was relieved that it was melonlike in taste, if
somewhat crunchy.

"If I might ask, Majer… did you have the opportunity to stop at
Krost Post?"

"We did, sir. That was where Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth
Companies joined us. We did some joint training there with Captain
Deotyr and Jultyr." Alucius inclined his head in the direction of the
two captains. "Colonel Jorynst had said you'd been posted west,
but he didn't seem to know where."

"Jorynst wouldn't know where his head was if it weren't attached,
and that assistant of his, Fedosyr, wasn't any better. I tried to get
Fedosyr discharged, but headquarters would never listen. Had
friends in Tempre, I guess. I never was much for that." Jesopyr
snorted. "Thought he was a duelist. Always provoking quarrels.
Best thing about being sent here was leaving him behind."

Feran was having trouble concealing a smile, Alucius realized.

"Did you see Fedosyr?" asked the colonel, looking at Alucius.

"Yes, sir."

"I have the feeling I'm missing something, Majer, and, knowing you,
it's something I might enjoy." Jesopyr turned to Feran. "The majer
can be quite reticent about his own accomplishments. Perhaps you
could enlighten me."

Feran looked at Alucius, then gave the slightest of shrugs. "Majer
Alucius felt that the new companies did not understand the
capabilities of a trained lancer company. He issued all three
companies rattan wands and held exercises. Majer Fedosyr took
some offense and insisted on a personal demonstration match
with Majer Alucius. Marshal Frynkel was at Krost Post and also
insisted on the demonstration. Majer Alucius disarmed Majer
Fedosyr quickly with rattan. Fedosyr claimed that the rattan was at
fault and insisted on true sabres. Majer Alucius disarmed him even
faster. Majer Fedosyr pulled a hidden pistol and shot Majer
Alucius. Majer Alucius, although wounded, killed Majer Fedosyr
with one slash."

"Better death than the sandsnake deserved," Jesopyr replied.
"Officers like that give the Guard a bad name. Where was what's
his name—Jorynst—during all this?"

"He was absent," Alucius said, "but Marshal Frynkel accepted his
resignation the next morning."

"Would have loved to see it." The colonel laughed. The laugh died
out. "That Frynkel… if he weren't so devoted to Lanachrona, he'd
be as bad as Fedosyr. Probably set the whole thing up to get rid of
them both so that he could claim to Fedosyr's friends that the
snake did himself in. Fedosyr did, of course. From what they say,
not an officer in three lands can match you, Majer."

"I've been fortunate," Alucius demurred.

"Ha! You're the kind who makes his own luck. So… after they
carted off Fedosyr's miserable carcass, what happened?"

"We rode to Hyalt and destroyed the prophet and his rebels,"
Alucius said. "We were trying to get the town back together when
we received the Lord-Protector's request. So here we are."

"Just like that? Like you rode to Deforya and killed four thousand
nomads?"

"The rebels were a little easier," Alucius admitted.

Jesopyr looked to Feran. "Overcaptain?"

"The rebels were easier, sir," Feran replied. "The majer brought
down a mountain on them, but he had to be on top of it to do it,
and… well, he was laid up for a day or two. Not like a month when
he got flamed by the pteridons he killed."

"Always love to see a fighting officer…"

While Alucius enjoyed Jesopyr's frank openness and hospitality,
he wanted to change the subject, and quickly. "What can you tell us
about the fighting around Southgate? And here?"

"None of it's good. Not so bad as it could be…" Jesopyr waited as
the lancer servers cleared the empty plates and replaced them
with cleaner larger plates, then brought in several serving platters.
"Mountain antelope, and had to make do with rice and some other
stuff…"

Knowing the colonel, Alucius was certain that the dish would be
more than just making do. "You were saying, sir?"

"Oh… two Southern Guard companies holding on just south of
Dimor. Matrites used one of their knife-throwers to level the gates
of the compound there. Once they took the place back… it seems
like nothing much else happened. The Matrites repaired the
garrison and added some lancers and foot, but what they did with
that cursed weapon… who knows? I don't know how long those
two companies can hold the road up there, because Marshal
Alyniat pulled the other four to Southgate. Could be that the Regent
just left enough to keep Dimor and sent all the rest of her
companies south to take Southgate. Now that they've got two of
those Talent-cursed knife-throwers here in the south to attack
Southgate, it's going to be a mess. We've had to pull back. Wyerl
had Fola, lock, stock, and hogshead, and then they surprised him
with one of the knife-throwers. Cut down him and four companies in
moments. Said that the air was a bloody fog…"

Alucius had seen that in the battles for Soulend. He'd hoped never
to see it again.

"… had to pull back, of course. We still hold the southwest high
road, and Alyniat's in command now. Reports are that the Matrites
are pulling most of their lancers out of the north, riding them south
in preparation for the battle to take Southgate. We don't know how
many, but it's more than we've got." Jesopyr shrugged. "That's
what I've gotten from the dispatches and the dispatch riders."

"Do you know if they have any Talent-wielders as well?" asked
Feran.

"No one's said anything like that. Why?"

"Well… there seems to be some of that happening. This prophet
in Hyalt was a Talent-wielder," Feran explained.

"Ah… that's why they brought in you northerners. Herders are
better at fighting Talent. You have to deal with those creatures…
what are they? "

"Sandwolves and sanders," Alucius said.

"Talent—that's not good." Jesopyr took another sip of wine, then a
bite of his antelope before continuing. "No… we haven't heard
about the Matrites using Talent. Unless those knife-throwers are
somehow powered by Talent."

"They're not," Alucius said. "They're nasty enough that you'd think
so, but they're copies of ancient weapons."

"Hope they don't come up with more of those. What we've got kills
enough."

Alucius could agree with that, silently, as he took another sip of the
wine, continuing to listen to the colonel.
Chapter 82
Prosp, Lustrea

In the dim light cast by a single oil lamp set in a battered bronze
wall sconce, the stocky figure in dark blue studied the oblong
Table that stood in the middle of the underground room, a room
whose stone walls had been reinforced with goldenstone pillars
salvaged from elsewhere. Then, he stepped up to the edge of the
Table, and his brow furrowed. A faint purplish glow appeared in the
center of the Table, coming from a single purple point of light, then
slowly expanded until the entire surface of the Table glowed
purple.

Waleryn took a deep breath. The glow vanished. He blotted his
damp forehead and stood before the Table, continuing to breathe
deeply.

After a time, he looked down at the Table once more. This time,
the glow that suffused the Table was even. With the faintest of
smiles, he concentrated.

Above the surface of the Table, a grid appeared. A handful of
sections were in purple, but the majority were red. Waleryn studied
the grid. Then, another small section changed from red to purple.
A moment later, the entire grid vanished.

Waleryn nodded and looked into the reflective surface of the
Table, where crimson mists appeared.

An image appeared, that of a dark-haired and pale-faced man, an
image that, in the Table, carried a purplish tinge. The image was
that of Trezun. Trezun's eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled.

In turn, Waleryn smiled, and concentrated.

A miniature image of the grid that he had called up moments earlier
appeared, seemingly deep within the Table. Waleryn looked at the
image in the Table—that of Trezun—and made a gesture.

Trezun nodded and extended a long-fingered hand. The grid
shimmered and vanished.

Both figures smiled.

Then the Table blanked, returning to its silvery reflective surface.

Waleryn took a long, deep breath, then blotted his forehead,
before turning away from the Table, which continued to glow after
he left the chamber.
Chapter 83

After leaving Zalt, Alucius and the three companies rode for
another five days. As they crossed the warm and dry grasslands
southwest of Zalt, lands that verged on desert, he was glad that he
had insisted on taking an extra day of rest at Zalt for the
lancers—and their mounts. He was also grateful for the maps and
his studies of them, because he was able to plan their stops to
take advantage of the former Matrite way stations—and their wells.
Both way stations and wells were useful in the lands to the
southwest, especially during fall, because, as Alucius recalled, the
early weeks of autumn were especially dry. The rains would not
come until close to the turn of the new year—and winter.

In the late morning on Tridi, Rakalt came riding back down the high
road, pulling his mount in beside Alucius.

"What is it?" asked Alucius.

"Looked to be Southern Guard scouts, sir. Except it's a full squad,
almost a road patrol."

"It probably is. They may be worried that the Matrites are coming
this way. We'd better bring out the banners, fly them up front in the
van." Alucius turned to Feran. "I think it would be best if Fifth
Company moved into the middle, and we brought Thirty-fifth
Company to the fore. Best we have Southern Guard uniforms up
front and in the rear."

"What happened to the trusting young officer I once knew?" asked
Feran.

"He vanished about five injuries ago," replied Alucius. "He also still
doesn't fully trust the intelligence of some Southern Guards."

"That's wise."

"Column, halt!"

The order echoed back. Shortly, Thirty-fifth Company had taken
the van, and Jultyr rode beside Alucius. The two standard-bearers
were a good fifty yards ahead, and Alucius had pulled back the
scouts to only two hundred yards before the standards.

Before long in the distance on the high road, Alucius could see
riders. Their approach was slow, and cautious, and it was a good
half a glass before the Southern Guard squad leader reined up
short of Alucius, who had halted his companies. The squad leader,
with a fifteen-man squad drawn up farther back, was plainly
confused at seeing both the Northern and Southern Guard
banners, and a Northern Guard majer at the head of a Southern
Guard force.

"Majer Alucius, squad leader. I've been dispatched personally by
the Lord-Protector to report to Marshal Alyniat with these three
companies."

"Sir… I'm sure you'll be more than welcome."

"I've fought here before. That's one reason why the Lord-Protector
sent me," Alucius said. While his words weren't totally accurate, he
didn't feel like trying to explain in detail.

"Yes, sir." The man still looked bewildered.

"I'm the one who fought the barbarians in Deforya several years
back. Because I've worked with the Southern Guard, and there
aren't any more Southern Guard lancers to send besides these
companies, the Lord-Protector sent me." Alucius used his Talent
to project reassurance.

The squad leader glanced to Jultyr, and his face relaxed, probably
even before the Talent fully affected him.

"We just finished putting down the revolt in Hyalt, Kisner," Jultyr
explained. "The majer took out over a hundred by himself.
Dropped a mountain on them. Set the charges and took 'em out."

"The revolt's over?"

"It's dead. So are about a thousand rebels," Jultyr pointed out.

"Good to hear one problem's out of the way," Kisner said.

"What does it look like ahead?" Alucius asked.

"The Matrites are pouring south from everywhere in the north."

"Where is Marshal Alyniat?"

"We're just a road patrol, sir. Out here to make sure they're not
flanking us. Last time we heard, the marshal was at the Fola high
road fort. That's about fifteen vingts north of the city."

Thirteen and a half vingts, according to Alucius's calculations.
"Then that's where we'll be heading. Is the northeast ring road still
clear?"

The squad leader's face again reflected surprise. "Ah… yes, sir."

"That will make it easier to get to the marshal."

"Yes, sirs." Kisner nodded. "Wish you luck. We need to check
farther east. Road back toward Southgate is clear. Least it was
earlier, back five vingts."

"Thank you, squad leader," Alucius said. "Best on your patrol."

After a last nod, Kisner and his squad headed eastward, along the
shoulder of the high road and past the three companies.

Once the patrol squad was well away, Jultyr cleared his throat. "I
apologize, sir, for that explanation. Seemed the only way to make it
simple. Kisner's a good man, but… he's a fighting lancer. Known
him for years."

Alucius understood. "Thank you. It made it easier." He had no
doubts that dealing with Alyniat would be much harder, especially if
he intended to keep his companies from being squandered in
useless fighting.
Chapter 84

Midmorning on Qattri brought Alucius and his force to the Southern
Guard encampment that surrounded the southeast high road fort.

Along the way, Alucius had decided on his approach. There was
no sense in merely putting himself and his companies under the
command of some colonel and being ordered to destroy as many
Matrites as possible. Not when the crystal spear-throwers
remained. Without them, as events had proved twice, the Matrites
could be handled. With them, the odds were too great that the
Lanachronans would lose everything and be pushed out of
Southgate—if not slaughtered in massive numbers. So Alucius and
his companies had to destroy the replicas of the ancient weapons,
if only to avoid being among those slaughtered by them.

That meant the companies had to get Alucius close enough that he
could destroy the weapons. How? That he didn't know, but he did
know that when the sanders had attacked the Matrites in Soulend,
the Sanders had used Talent of some sort to destroy the first
crystal spear-thrower. So it could be done. He had to hold on to
that thought. The soarers had told him—and shown him—that he
could do what they did, and they could do more than the sanders.
His problem was that he didn't know how… and would have to learn
by trying.

According to the maps and histories that Alucius had studied,
Southgate was surrounded by an irregular arc of hills, and the early
seltyrs of Southgate had used slave labor to build up the low spots
between the hills and create a stone ring road linking the small
hillside forts set at regular intervals along the road. There were two
main forts, the one where the southwest high road intersected the
ring road, and the one to the west where the coastal—or
Fola—high road intersected the ring road.

When Alucius and his force neared the ring road around
Southgate, just about midmorning, he could see the road cut
ahead. To the right, on the ridge crest, was a large stone-walled
fort. To the left was a smaller one. Thick walls ran down from each
fort to massive gates, ironbound gates, open for the moment, as
Alucius's force rode closer.

A single rider rode toward them, pausing and talking to the banner
bearers, and then riding toward Alucius and Jultyr. The rider was a
senior squad leader, and Alucius could sense his anxiety as he
neared the column.

"Column, halt!" Alucius waited.

"Sir? Your orders, sir?"

Alucius rode forward, and tendered the orders.

The squad leader read them, before handing them back. "Sir…
you'll have to wait a moment. Undercaptain Girynst will be right
here."

"We've got a ways to go, squad leader." Alucius could sense
some apprehension, and tension, but nothing he would have
considered dangerous—but he still worried.

"Yes, sir. I know, sir."

The squad leader rode back and disappeared into the fortifications
surrounding the gates, which remained open.

Alucius studied the hills or ridges that stretched northwest and
south-east from the high road. The hills themselves looked like
ramparts, even without walls upon them. Then he switched his
attention to the gates, but nothing happened except that an
undercaptain rode out toward them—alone.

"Sir, your name?"

"Majer Alucius, Northern Guard, commanding Fifth Company,
Northern Guard, and Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies of
the Southern Guard."

"Might I see your orders again, sir?"

Curbing his irritation, Alucius handed the orders back over.

The undercaptain read the orders, then checked the seals against
something he carried, and the orders against something else
before handing the orders back. "I apologize, sir, but orders are
orders, sir."

"I understand." Alucius understood that people felt that way, but
had he or any inventive commander wanted to get through the
Lanachronan defenses, there were far easier ways. The ring road
was lightly defended most of its length, as opposed to the fortified
points at the high road intersections.

"Do you know where you're headed, sir?"

"Only generally, Undercaptain. I know we're supposed to report
directly to Marshal Alyniat, and that the ring road west will take us to
the coast road fort, and that's where he is and we're supposed to
be."

"Yes, sir. You ride through the gates here, and then, about a half
vingt beyond them, you take the stone road to the right. At the top
of the hill it joins the ring road, and you turn left—that's west—and
keep going for… well, it's dose to fifteen vingts."

"Thank you."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius nodded to Jultyr.

"Column, forward.'"

Thirty-fifth Company rode forward, followed by the other two
companies and the supply wagons. Passing the massive gates
was almost like riding through a stone-walled trench, somehow
oppressive, with ancient walls that had to have been built centuries
before by the seltyrs of Southgate, or even by the Dramurian lords
who had held Southgate before them. Alucius could sense the
hidden lancers with rifles and was more than glad to have his
forces through the walled road gap and riding uphill to the ridgeline
hill road.

Once he reached the ridge top, and the main ring road on the
northwest side of the road cut and the high road, Alucius looked
back and studied the layout. The ring road split on each side of the
road cut, one segment ending at a small fort on the east side of the
high road, and a second segment angling gradually down to meet
the high road a good half vingt to the south. The same pattern
existed on the west side, where Alucius was, except that the one
segment provided the entry to the larger ring road fort. The ring
road itself was eight yards wide, and the stones showed signs of
age, being worn down in spots, and in others showing shallow
grooves from years of use by iron-tired wagons. On the flatter land
below the larger road fort were tielines and tents—and mounts and
men—possibly fifteen companies, if not twenty.

The hills on which the ring road had been built were covered with
brown grass waving in the light breeze and occasional patches of
scrub oak, but clearly, to Alucius!s eyes, they had been kept clear
of trees and taller vegetation. With the two banners before the
companies, after the interrogation by the undercaptain, no one at
the eastern fort had even come out as Alucius had ridden past.
While a respite would have been welcome, he knew all too well that
some colonel would try to order him where he didn't want to go.
That would happen soon enough, Alucius knew.

The ring road from the east slowly swung from angling northwest to
heading due west and then, after more than ten vingts, began to
descend along a ridge toward the fort guarding the coast high road
leading into Southgate. Even from more than a vingt away, Alucius
could see the tents and tielines of the Southern Guard on the back
side of the hill and in the valley to the south of the ring road.

"Must be fifty companies here, sir," observed Jultyr, riding to
Alucius's left.

"And twenty to the east." Alucius took a deep swallow from his
water bottle. The afternoon sun beat down on him through a clear
sky, providing a warmth that reminded him just how far south he
had come.

As they neared the fort itself, Alucius saw that the ring road again
followed the same pattern as with the more eastern fort. The thick
walls overlooked a road cut where the high road passed between
two sides of the ridge. The stonework and fortifications that ran
down the sides of the cut to the massive gates—as well as the
gates themselves—had obviously been built after the high road,
since none of their construction was eternastone.

Alucius and his force were no more than two hundred yards from
the stone gates to the road fort when several riders made their way
up the angled section of the ring road from the camp area below
the ring road and to the left. A captain and a colonel were followed
by two lancers.

"You want to stop, Majer?"

"Not until they're almost on us."

They only covered another fifty yards before Alucius ordered,
"Column, halt!"

Then he waited as the colonel reined up five yards away.

"Good to see you, Majer. Colonel Hubar. You'll be under my
command, and—"

"No, sir," Alucius smiled politely. "My orders place me directly
under the marshal and no one else. If Marshal Alyniat is not here,
or is unable to command, I've been accorded equal command
status with the remaining senior officer." Alucius held out the sheet
with the orders. "These are very specific."

"I don't think you understand, Majer. All officers are directed to
report to the marshal. You should know that. But seeing as you're
from the Northern Guard…"

"Sir, I'd like to suggest that you read these orders." Alucius tried to
project a sense of reasonableness he didn't feel.

"Majer, I've read orders for years. They're all the same, and I really
don't have time to debate about it. You're under my command."

"No, sir. In the north, we read orders before we decide." Alucius
smiled pleasantly.

"Majer… I must insist."

"Colonel, I must defer. I've read my orders, and you haven't."

"You're subordinate… and you'll behave…"

Alucius reached out with his Talent and squeezed the colonel's
lifethread, very gently.

The man turned red, then blue. After a moment, he looked at
Alucius, fear and anger warring on his face.

"I'm not arguing, Colonel. I'm carrying out the Lord-Protector's
orders. Now… can you direct me toward the marshal?"

"You…"

"For what it's worth, I'm the third most senior officer in the Northern
Guard. We're not exactly blessed with colonels and marshals. The
Lord-Protector knows that, and he personally requested my
presence here. Now… Marshal Alyniat?"

"You can't take Southern Guards…"

"I also hold a commission in the Southern Guard. Would you like to
see that?" Alucius's voice was like ice, and he projected absolute
power and authority.

The colonel looked coldly at Alucius. "I suppose you have some
experience."

Alucius sighed, loudly. "I'm Majer Alucius. For what it's also worth,
I'm the one who destroyed Aellyan Edyss. I'm the one who got the
last Star of Honor from the Lord-Protector, and I'm the one who
just squashed the revolt in Hyalt. And if you put up one more
objection, you'll be answering to both the marshal and the Lord-
Protector—if there are enough pieces of you left for either to find."
Alucius couldn't quite contain the rage he was trying to suppress,
despite his efforts to remain civil.

The colonel's face turned ashen. For a moment, he just swallowed.
Finally, he spoke. "I apologize, Majer. I spoke in haste. We're very
hard-pressed here."

"I understand," Alucius replied, far more gently. "That's why we
made haste to get here, and that's why we were given a special
assignment. I doubt you or your men would want it. Marshal
Alyniat?"

"He's…" The colonel took a deep breath. "He's in the fort. Second
level."

As they rode on, Alucius could hear a few of the low murmurs, first
from the captain,

"… who… he think he is?"

"… just who he said… be either dead or untouchable in a week…"

Alucius suspected the first was more likely, but death was certain if
he did not stick to his own plans.

Then came the murmurs from Thirty-fifth Company, so low that he
could not have heard them without Talent.

"… never seen that before… colonel turned white…"

"… beginning to see why they sent him…"

"… colonel… he'll never forgive…"

"… last majer and colonel tangled with him… one's stipended…
other's dead…"

Alucius had to wonder how someone in the ranks knew that Jorynst
had been stipended out, but then, as a ranker, he'd known more
than a few things officers had wished he hadn't.

"The Northern Guard doesn't like fools, does it?" asked Jultyr.

"We've had our share of them," Alucius said dryly. "That's why I
don't care for them. That's also why I left active service."

"Is it true… you're the third highest officer in the Northern Guard?"

"Actually, I was talking faster than I thought," Alucius admitted. "I'm
the fourth most senior."

Jultyr chuckled. "That'd make you a majer-colonel or a submarshal
in the Southern Guard."

"We're a little smaller. Just twenty companies of lancers." Alucius
considered. "But the Iron Valleys were only about a quarter the
size of Lanachrona before the union."

The west road fort had not been built to house large numbers of
lancers or their mounts. Even before he reached the gates, Alucius
could tell that the stables could not have held more than a
company, and the narrow barracks perhaps twice that. The walls
were of an old graystone, and there were more than a few places
where stones had been replaced. Then, as Alucius recalled, at
least three different lands had ruled Southgate in the past five
centuries.

The courtyard looked to be so small that he ordered the column to
halt just outside the gates and rode inside with Rakalt. Once inside,
he dismounted, leaving the gray's reins with the scout. He walked
up the two steps and through the archway.

Once there, Alucius didn't wait for a reaction, but used his Talent to
pour authority at the two lancers standing guard duty just inside the
narrow arch.

"I'm looking for Marshal Alyniat. Is he on the second level?"

"Ah… yes, sir. But…"

"Thank you." Alucius reached the second level, a long marshaling
hall. Groups of officers were gathered around tables. One was
piled high with maps.

A quick study indicated that the only guarded door was halfway
down the hall on the west side, and Alucius set out with a
purposeful stride. He almost made it to the pair of guards before
he was intercepted by a tall black-haired colonel.

"The marshal's busy… Majer."

"I'm certain he is, Colonel." Alucius smiled pleasantly. "My name is
Alucius. The Lord-Protector sent me here to provide special
assistance to the marshal. I think you should usher me in." Alucius
projected friendly firmness, and some authority.

"I said he was busy." Impatience colored the colonel's words, and
Alucius could tell the man was put off by the assumption of
authority. "Field majers report to Colonel Hubar."

"I'm not a field majer, Colonel," Alucius said politely. "I was sent by
the Lord-Protector to report to Marshal Alyniat for a special
mission." He showed the orders.

"He said he was not to be disturbed." The colonel ignored the
sheet.

"Colonel, why don't you announce me, and we'll see." Alucius
didn't know what else to project. It had been a long ride, even the
last part from Zalt, and he wasn't thinking as well or as quickly as he
should have been. And he could feel his blood beginning to boil at
yet another insistent and overbearing colonel.

"Majer… we're going to be under attack tomorrow, the next day at
the latest."

"That's why you should announce me, Colonel." Alucius was
getting very tired of imperious colonels, but he told himself that
they were probably tired of arrogant and pushy majers. "If you
would, please?"

"Come back late this afternoon."

"It won't wait that long, Colonel. He needs to know that I'm here,
and why. It won't take long, but he should know."

"I said later, Majer."

Alucius touched the man's lifethreads hard enough for the colonel
to topple forward onto the hard stones. Then he looked at the two
guards. "I'd appreciate it if you'd announce me."

The two exchanged looks.

"Majer Alucius, from the Lord-Protector," Alucius supplied. "Just
say that. If he doesn't want to see me, I'll leave."

"Ah… sir. Know you asked not to be disturbed, but there's a Majer
Alucius. Northern Guard, sir. Says he's from the Lord-Protector."

"Show him in."

Alucius smiled, but he held his Talent ready as he stepped through
the door that the surprised guard opened.

Amazingly, Alyniat was alone in the small chamber. He turned from
the window and smiled. "Majer! I had hoped… What happened in
Hyalt?"

"The prophet had five companies. We destroyed most of his men,
but the revolt isn't anymore. We set up a council of the older
women and a few graybeards. Almost no one else was left. Then
we set out for Southgate."

"You make it sound easy."

"Getting here, after we finished in Hyalt, was easy. Getting to see
you wasn't. I've pushed my way past two of your colonels. One
wanted to shunt me and my forces—"

"Forces?"

"I've got three companies with me, but they're for a special
mission."

Alyniat raised his eyebrows.

"Taking out the crystal spear-throwers."

After a split second, the marshal began to laugh, shaking his head.
"Only you… a majer… taking on colonels…"

Alucius smiled. "The Lord-Protector sent specific orders. I report
only to you. If anything happens to you, I'm on equal footing with
your successor." Alucius extended the order sheet.

Alyniat read through the sheet and handed it back, nodding
thoughtfully. "It doesn't mention that mission."

"Do you think that the Lord-Protector would put that in writing, or
Marshal Frynkel? The level of authority…"

"Frynkel never did like paper trails… and under these
circumstances…" Alyniat pursed his lips, then ran his thin fingers
through his silvering blond hair. "How do you propose this
mission?" The fingers of his left hand began to tap on the table, if
intermittently.

"There are two of the spear-throwers, I've been told. It seemed to
me that we'd try to deal with the one posing the most difficulty first.
But… we just got here, and I've no idea of the tactical situation."

"We're stretched too thin. They're coming down the high road from
Fola." Alyniat coughed, then cleared his throat. "They could attack
as early as tomorrow, or wait for days. My best judgment is that
they'll attack either Sexdi or Septi. They haven't waited long when
they've attacked before."

"They'll have to move the spear-thrower into position. It's heavy."

"What do you know about it?" asked Alyniat.

"The projectiles are more like short spears, half a yard long, and
made of a hard crystal. They can fire in any direction, but only in
one direction at a time. They can turn it across a field so that it
slices through everything in its path. It can dig through earthworks,
and even thin stone walls. Those take time, though."

"You've fought against them before."

"Yes."

"How do you propose to take something that fearsome out? If I
might ask?"

"Very carefully," Alucius replied. "To do it, it will have to be
operating, and that means we'll need to do some scouting to find
out exactly where it is and will be. I'd guess it will be used to lead
an assault."

"Do you need all three companies?"

"Do you want me to take out the spear-thrower, sir?"

"Fair enough." Alyniat lifted his thin blond eyebrows. "You
mentioned some difficulty with colonels… What colonels and what
difficulty? I should know."

"Hubar was the first. He was difficult, but not impossible, not after I
explained to him that… well… who I was and why he really
shouldn't get involved. I don't know the second. Tall, with black
hair. He was just outside here. Kept telling me that you weren't to
be disturbed. I offered to go away if he announced me and you
told me to depart or come back or whatever. He wouldn't announce
me."

"Do I want to know how you got announced?"

"He fainted and fell onto the stones. Might have broken his nose."

"You didn't touch him?"

"No, sir." Not physically, Alucius qualified to himself.

The marshal shook his head. "You're hard on our officers, Majer."

"Just the stupid ones, sir. We don't have time for that."

"You don't have time for that. We in southern Lanachrona need to
put up with some of it, because if we eliminated them all right now
we couldn't fill their billets. They're already complaining that I've
elevated too many senior squad leaders to captain. It won't help
me, but it might help the marshals to come. Enough of that."

Alyniat walked to the door, but did not open it. "Was Colonel
Sarthat the one who tried to stop the majer?"

"Yes, sir."

"If he's well enough, send him in."

Several moments passed before the door opened and Sarthat
walked in, holding a cloth to his nose, a very bloodied cloth. He did
not look at Alucius.

"Sarthat."

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you ask to see the majer's orders?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"Every majer wants to see you, sir. Everything is urgent…"

"How many are Northern Guard majers?" Alyniat paused. "I'll make
this very clear. As I am certain he told you, Majer Alucius is here on
a special mission. His orders make him the equal of any officer
here, except me. He is to be given every assistance, no matter
what you feel personally. This is not because I am favoring him. If
he succeeds, we will win. If he fails, it is likely he will be dead, as
will many of our officers and men. In case you don't recall, Majer
Alucius is the one who defeated over a hundred companies of
nomads and those Talent-pteridons in Deforya several years ago.
He took command when the senior officers were killed, and he
managed that with three companies. He got the Star of Honor for
that. He just put down the rebellion in Hyalt with three companies.
He's used to doing the impossible. His methods are not suited to
regular chains of command. Don't make it harder on him. The Lord-
Protector, Marshal Frynkel, and I all would take it amiss—if you
lived that long."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius looked at the colonel, who was both chastened and furious
beneath his frozen features. "I'm a herder, Colonel. I can sense
every feeling you have before you can recognize it yourself. I don't
want your job. I don't want your authority, and I didn't really want to
hurt you. I've ridden over a thousand vingts in the last two seasons,
and I did it at the Lord-Protector's personal request. I have no
desire to remain in southern Lanachrona. I just want to do what I
was sent to do so that I can go back to the Iron Valleys and not
worry about the Regent of the Matrial."

Some, but not all, of Sarthat's rage subsided, followed by a sense
that perhaps all was not lost. At least, that was how Alucius read
him.

Alyniat cleared his throat. "Make sure that his companies have a
bivouacking space, and feed and water for their mounts, and
standard rations for the lancers." Yes, sir.

"There's no mess here," Alyniat added, "but officer's rations are
laid out before morning muster, and at the sixth glass of the
afternoon."

"Thank you, sir."

"You know Captain-colonel Omaryk?" asked the marshal.

"I've met him before, sir."

"He's in charge of intelligence… the third table in the hall. I'll make
sure he knows that you'll be seeing him. When do you expect… ?"

"Overcaptain Feran can handle billeting, sir. The sooner I know…"

Alyniat nodded. "You introduce the overcaptain to Colonel Sarthat,
and by the time you get back, Omaryk will be expecting you."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Majer… I expect a short verbal report in the morning, just
after muster. Very short."

"Yes, sir." Alucius understood Alyniat's last words, and the reasons
for them.

He and Sarthat left the small chamber and walked silently to the
south end of the marshaling hall, then down the steps and out to
where the companies waited. Rakalt rode behind them, leading
Alucius's mount.

Feran had moved up to the front, his mount beside Jultyr's.

"Colonel, this is Overcaptain Feran. Feran, the colonel will be
working with us to arrange space, feed, and water, and whatever
else he can. You'll have to stand in for me. I'm expected to meet
with Captain-colonel Omaryk."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius turned to Sarthat. "I apologize, Colonel, and I appreciate
your aid and forbearance."

"I understand, Majer. We're fortunate to have you."

As Alucius walked back to the main building of the fort, he
understood all too well that Sarthat's forbearance would vanish the
moment Alucius was vulnerable in any way. With some people, that
was always the way they operated. His legs hurt slightly as he
made his way back up the stone steps and along the side of the
hall, looking for Omaryk. It had been a long day, after many other
long days. The captain-colonel was at the third table, but it was the
third table from the north end.

Alucius stepped toward the older officer.

"Ah… the warrior-leader." As Alucius recalled him, Captain-colonel
Omaryk still had freckles and a long narrow face. The red hair was
thinning and washed with silver, and there were dark circles under
his eyes.

"Just a majer, sir."

"You were never just anything, Majer. Technically, with those
orders, you're probably a breveted sub-marshal. Now… what do
you need to know?"

"Where the closest spear-thrower is… how many sand wagons are
following it, if there are easy places to get sand near where you
think they'll station it for the attack here… I'm sure you've thought
all that out."

"I have, as best I could. Only you and the marshal have asked."
Omaryk nodded thoughtfully. "Will nightsilk protect you against the
spears?"

"Against one or two… it might, but they're fired with such force and
so quickly that you don't usually get hit with one or two. The
impacts would probably end up breaking every bone in my body."

Omaryk spread out a small map. "The last position we could see,
and the scouts had to use a long-glass for it, the wagons were ten
vingts north. They'd stopped at the dry creek here…"

"Sand. I didn't see any just to the north."

"We don't know of any. Now… there are three knolls where they
would have a clear line of fire at the fort and the defenses…"

Despite his tiredness and his doubts about the Matrites being
obliging enough to attack where the Southern Guard forces were,
Alucius forced himself to follow every word Omaryk spoke, and to
relate mentally each position to the map.
Chapter 85

On Quinti, Alucius was up before dawn, riding along the ring road
on the far side of the coast road gap and fortifications. He rode
alone because he wanted a better feeling for the land, the
emplacements, and even for any sense of Talent. He also rode by
himself because he had felt so hemmed in by everything, by so
many lancers and officers all around, by the situation, and by the
feeling that he was being pushed toward something whether he
wanted to go or not. He laughed softly. He'd chosen to be pushed,
even if he'd had little real choice. Perhaps that was what upset
him—the feeling that even his choices were constricted so tightly
that they weren't really choices, but a matter of picking the lesser
evil.

The first thing he felt as he rode out was a sense of deadness
underneath the land. The land he saw, the grasses, the
animals—their lifeforces were much the same as anywhere, but
somewhere, around two to three yards beneath the surface, there
was little life, as if it had once been wiped away. Whatever had
happened had taken place a long time ago, certainly at least at the
time of the Cataclysm, if not before.

He rode slowly looking toward the north and the northwest, but he
saw little except for the land and what lay upon it and the
Lanachronan patrols and sentries. Someone must have passed
some word about the Northern Guards, because while guards
scrutinized him, not a one challenged him. Nowhere did he sense
any form of Talent, nor the lifethreads of large numbers of
lancers—except where the Lanachronan forces were posted along
the ring road. The ring road itself remained stone-paved as it
slowly arced to the southwest, but less than two vingts to the west-
southwest of where it intersected the coastal high road, it narrowed
from roughly eight yards to slightly less than six.

Alucius continued to worry about the unspoken Lanachronan
assumption that the Matrites would attack the fortified points on the
ring road. In some ways, that made sense—if the Matrite goal was
to reduce the fortifications and destroy the Lanachronan forces. If
Alucius had been designing the attack, he would have simply
bypassed the fortifications, taken the city, then attacked from
inside the ring road. The crystal spear-throwers were only
marginally useful against heavy stone, but highly effective against
everything else.

On the other hand, he reflected, the spear-throwers were so heavy
that they had to be moved on solid surfaces, and he doubted that
they could be pulled up any steep incline. That meant that they
would either use the high road or find a good side road that would
allow them to move to a position where the ring road was low in
comparison to the surrounding land.

Four vingts to the east of the coast road intersection he found a
likely possibility. The ring road had been cut across a long ridge
that angled northwest, descending on a gradual angle from the ring
road. There were steep gullies on either side of the ridge until it
was more than a vingt away from the ring road. At the road itself,
those gullies had been filled in to create both a wall and a support
for the road. The base of the ridge was three vingts to the
northwest, and only a few hundred yards across a flat expanse
separated the lower end of the ridge from a narrow dirt road that
looked to angle off the coastal high road several vingts to the north.

The whole distance could be covered at night, and by the time the
Matrites were discovered, unless sentries were posted down the
ridge, they could hold the ring road. If they used one of the spear-
throwers to isolate the Lanachronan forces, they could send forces
to take Southgate bit by bit, and eventually force either a
Lanachronan pullout and retreat or the destruction of most of the
Lanachronan forces.

Alucius spent almost half a glass studying the ridge, determining
how his forces might flank a possible assault in a way that would
offer minimal exposure to the spear-thrower.

On the way back, he stopped on the west side of the high road
from the main road fort. For a time, he looked down at the heavy
stone walls and iron-timbered gates that felt ancient and had to
have been constructed centuries before, if not even earlier. After
studying the fortifications, he doubted that the gates and walls
would see any action.

Then he rode down the connecting ring road segment, across the
high road, and up the eastern traverse to the main road fort, where
he tied the gray outside and made his way inside and up the stairs
to the marshaling hall and to the door to Marshal Alyniat's small
study.

"Majer Alucius, reporting to Marshal Alyniat, as ordered personally
by the marshal."

"Sir, let me see if he's ready to see you." The guard turned and
relayed Alucius's statement word for word.

"Have him wait."

The words were muffled, but clear in intent.

Although he could sense no one inside the chamber with the
marshal, Alucius ended up waiting more than half a glass. After his
acts of the day before, he had half expected something like that,
foolish as it seemed to him.

At the sound of a single rap on the inside of the door, the guard
turned to Alucius. "He's ready to see you, sir."

"Thank you."

Alucius opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door
behind him.

The marshal looked up from the table desk and the maps spread
across it. "I'd have preferred to see you immediately," Alyniat said
with an open smile, and a sense of amusement, "but this is
Lanachrona, and if I did not make you wait some, under the
circumstances, every officer would be trying your techniques,
Majer."

"They might have some difficulty with that, sir. They're not herders."

Alyniat laughed. "That would not stop them from trying. And this
morning was a good morning for games, because the reports from
the scouts show that the Matrites will not reach the area within
several vingts of the ring road before late afternoon."

"Yes, sir. Have they seen the heavy wagons and the sand wagons
that follow them?"

"I asked for that information. There are two such wagons. One is
coming down the Fola road. The other is on the road from Zalt.
They must have used another road to bypass our forces. The
weapon on the Zalt road was used to take out half a company
whose captain thought that he was attacking a Matrite supply
caravan. I would have reprimanded him for not understanding the
instructions, but since he's dead, I'll merely be passing on the
information at officer's call this morning. You will be here, and, for
now, you're a brevet majer-colonel." Alyniat turned to his writing
table and picked up the two collar insignia—a four-pointed star
crossed with a single sabre. "Those are Southern Guard insignia,
but I can only brevet you in the Southern Guard. The sabre point is
to the outside."

"Thank you, sir."

"You'll perform to the rank, I'm certain." Alyniat's wry smile dropped
away. "I don't need details, but I'm presuming that, as with all your
other accomplishments, you'll need your force to get you to the
point where you and some of your Northern Guards can actually do
what needs to be done."

"Effectively… yes, sir."

"That's one aspect of your demeanor you should keep, Colonel.
There's nothing saved by indirection, except confusion. Do you
need any special supplies?"

"No, sir. We could use some extra grain for the mounts, if it can be
spared. They've ridden a long ways in a short time. But… sir, I've
done some scouting, and I have some concerns that the Matrites
may not attack directly from the high roads."

"That's possible. Where do you think they might attack?"

"I don't know all the possibilities, sir, but there's a ridge some four
vingts to the southwest on the ring road. The slope is flat enough,
and the ground looks hard enough that they could attack from
there."

"Four vingts? I know the place. I have my doubts that they would
move that far from the forts. They don't just want the city. They
want to smash us."

"Yes, sir."

"You have that doubting agreement, Colonel. I'll make you a wager.
You post a watch there, and I'll wager that they'll see nothing."

"If I have your approval, sir, I'll take that wager."

Alyniat laughed. "I'll tell the other colonels that you'll be watching
special areas for unusual activities. But… if we get attacked
elsewhere, I want your forces ready to support or do what you
need to do to take out the crystal spear-throwers."

"Yes, sir. Except that we can only attack one at a time, and I can't
break off dealing with one crystal spear-thrower to deal with
another."

Alyniat frowned, then nodded, his fingers drumming on the table
for several moments before he spoke. "I can't gainsay that. I just
hope we don't need you in two places at once."

So did Alucius.

"I'll make sure that the majer of quartermasters takes care of the
feed. You were out riding this morning. Did you find anything else
that I should know? "

"Not yet, sir."

"Report to me every morning until we move into actual fighting. Is
there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"You may go. Until officers' call."

"Yes, sir."

Less than half a glass later, Alucius stood at the north end of the
marshaling hall, in the front rank with two older majer-colonels,
neither of whom he had met.

Alyniat stood in front of the close to fifty officers. He began
speaking without preambles. "First… the Matrite forces were still
more than fifteen vingts to the north as of midafternoon yesterday,
and the latest reports show that they have moved less than five
vingts southward… appears that both crystal spear-throwers are
being moved… Colonel Alucius has joined our forces with three
companies trained to deal with them… His force has ridden from
Hyalt… defeated the prophet there and put down the revolt… only
group so equipped, and can only deal with one at a time… will
need to step up scouting as the Matrites approach…

"That's all for the moment. Colonel Cyrosyr and Colonel
Korynst—I'll brief you each individually immediately after dismissal.
I've already briefed Colonel Alucius."

Just like that, Alyniat had announced that Alucius was one of the
top three colonels in the force, without even directly saying so. The
faintest smile crossed Alucius's lips. Alyniat's actions reminded
Alucius that he had much to learn about the politics of lancer
operations, but he wouldn't worry about those aspects greatly—not
until he'd dealt with the Matrites' spear-throwers. If he didn't find a
way to destroy the two supremely lethal weapons, he certainly
wouldn't have to worry about the political aspects of anything.
Chapter 86

Sexdi was much the same as Quinti had been, with no sign of the
Matrites from the ring road. Alucius checked his maps and sent
Waris, Elbard, Rakalt, and Bakka to check the ring road for other
possible Matrite attack points. None found others as promising as
the one Alucius located, but they did not go farther east than the
intersection with the road to Zalt. While a second major attack
might well take place farther east, he could cover only so much of
the ring road from where they were stationed. He could only hope
that any obvious movement of even more Matrite lancers and the
spear-throwers would precede such an attack. The reports that
Alyniat provided indicated that the bulk of the Matrite forces
remained near the two main high roads.

That could and would change, Alucius was convinced, but until it
did, he saw no point in moving his own forces blindly. They could
use a day of not riding, and so could their mounts. In the
meantime, he also established a scouting pattern and rotation for
the ridge area, then worked out a rough pattern of attack—if the
Matrites did as he thought they might.

As Alyniat had wagered, the main Matrite force moved slowly down
the high roads toward Southgate, so slowly that, by sunset on
Sexdi, the main body was still on the coastal high road, a good
seven vingts north of the ring road. A slightly smaller Matrite force
was on the southwest high road six vingts northeast. Had Alucius
been planning an attack of the sort he had envisioned, the Matrites
were close to where he would have been. So far as Alucius could
determine, there was no absolute proof that the Matrites would
attack either as he had expected or as Alyniat had, but Alucius was
wagering that the Matrites would not begin with a direct assault.

While the two other senior colonels had small rooms in the road
fort, Alucius had decided to sleep in the field, where he could
rouse and move his forces quickly.

His plan was based on what he had seen and learned years
before. The spear-thrower had felt totally dead until it was put into
operation, and that meant that Alucius couldn't count on using his
Talent against it until the Matrites powered up the weapon. He
didn't know when that might be, but it was likely that wouldn't
happen until the weapon was close to the ring road. He hoped his
guesses were correct. He'd planned his attack that way, although
the details of what he intended were not something he was sharing,
beyond telling his officers and squad leaders that there was a
special attack force. He wasn't saying that he was the attack force.

On Sexdi evening, he'd gone over the contingent battle plans with
his officers until he was certain they understood. He hoped they
did, but he was uncertain about Deotyr.

He finally drifted off into sleep, a restless sleep.

In time, he struggled awake, only to find himself in a hall, one with
pink marble walls, tinged with purple, walls with half pillars of
golden-stone set at regular intervals. Above him was an arched
ceiling of the same pink marble. So precisely were all the stones
set that he could detect neither joints nor mortar. He looked down.
As he somehow had known, octagonal sections of polished gold
and green marble composed the floor, with each section of green
marble inset with an eight-pointed star of golden marble.

When he looked up, the walls had shifted.

Alucius's eyes flicked from one wall to another, but he was alone in
the chamber, a chamber without wall hangings… or doors… or
windows. He whirled, but there were no exits behind him, either.

Had he gotten into the chamber through a Table? He did not see or
sense one anywhere.

The walls shifted once more, inward, leaving the chamber far
smaller, less than seven yards long and three wide. He stepped
forward and glanced back over his shoulder. Nothing had changed.
There were still no doors anywhere.

The walls shifted yet again, leaving the chamber less than four by
two and a half yards, with the ceiling less than a yard above him.

He lifted his arms to touch the cold marble walls. Before he could
lower them, the walls pressed in, forcing his hands inward toward
his body, leaving him standing in a space more confined than a
cell, with hard stone inexorably contracting toward him.

He reached out with his Talent, to find an escape, but could sense
nothing but stone, hard stone that went on endlessly beyond the
immediate surface of the marble walls.

Sweat poured down his forehead. He had to get out… somehow.
He had to—

Alucius bolted upright in his bedroll. Despite the cold night air, he
was sweating, almost feverishly. He blotted his forehead, then
quickly extended his Talent.

Was someone attacking? Had the sentries been affected?

His breathing slowed as he understood that, for the moment, all
was quiet, and that only Lanachronan forces were gathered nearby.

Why the dream now? Because he felt even more trapped by
events?

He took a long slow breath. He needed to relax, to get some sleep.
Tomorrow, or the next day, he'd have a battle to fight, and he
wouldn't do well without rest.

He lay back on the bedroll, trying to think of calming thoughts, of
the stead… and of Wendra. That didn't help, because he began to
worry—about her and Alendra, and he had the growing feeling that
he might not be able to make it back to Iron Stem before Alendra
was due. Nothing was going as he had hoped—or anyone had
planned. The knowledge that wars usually went that way didn't help
either, not as he tried to find sleep.
Chapter 87

A horn sounded somewhere, as if both distant, yet nearby. Alucius
turned over in the bedroll, trying to shut out the sound. "Sir!"

Alucius struggled out of the depths of exhaustion. "What… ?"

"Majer… Colonel, I mean. Bakka sent word that there's a bunch of
Matrites moving toward that ridge. Says there's a company or more
and some wagons."

Alucius bolted into a sitting position. "What time—"

"It's maybe two glasses before dawn, sir."

"Wake up the captains and have them rouse everyone. They need
to be ready to ride in a quarter glass."

"Yes, sir."

In the mild chill of the dry night air, under a clear sky with only the
greenish half-disc of Asterta in the heavens, Alucius pulled on his
boots, checked his nightsilk vest, and then pulled the nightsilk skull
mask into place. His men had seen it before, and he'd need it with
what he planned. He gathered his rifles, saddled the gray,
mounted, and rode toward the area where the companies would
form up.

Feran was already there.

"You think this will work?" asked the older officer.

"Until we try… I can't say."

Feran laughed softly. "It had better, because if it doesn't, I'll be in
charge, and there's no way I want to explain to Alyniat. Or Weslyn."

At the sound of riders, both Northern Guard officers turned,
expecting Jultyr and Deotyr, but an unfamiliar captain in the blue of
the Southern Guard appeared, outlined by the torch carried by the
lancer riding with him. "What's going on here?"

Alucius rode forward until the light fell on him. "We've gotten word
that our target's moving into place. Once we're certain, we'll be
letting the marshal know."

The officer's eyes took in the insignia, but his eyes lingered on the
skull mask. "Ah… yes, sir, Colonel. Sorry to bother you, sir."

"I understand, Captain. Carry on."

"Yes, sir."

No sooner had the watch captain disappeared into the darkness
than Jultyr rode up, followed by Deotyr.

"We don't have much time," Alucius began. "The plan is the same
as we discussed last night. We'll move into position and wait for
them to begin the attack. Then the attack group will move on the
crystal spear-thrower. If the group is successful, the spear-thrower
will fail. That's when you get the order to attack the forces around
the weapon."

"Sir?" asked Deotyr.

"Why attack, if it's not working? Because they could fix it, and we'd
be in the same position in another few weeks or months, and
they'd have even more lancers surrounding it. We need to capture
it or make sure it's destroyed. That's why we have half a squad
carrying gunpowder. Now… when we get to the ridge we're taking
down, and that's not the one where the Matrites are coming up,
remember, we'll go in this order—Fifth Company, Twenty-eighth
Company, and Thirty-fifth Company. That's the way we'll form up
now."

"Yes, sir."

Despite Alucius's impatience, it was almost a tenth of a glass
before the three companies were on the ring road, climbing the
western segment, and heading west through the darkness.

They had traveled slightly more than a vingt, Alucius judged, when
Waris appeared out of the darkness.

"Sir!" The scout eased his mount beside Alucius.

"Yes, Waris?"

"Like you thought, sir. They put four companies on the coastal high
road, where that dirt road leaves the high road."

"What about the rest?"

"They look to be headed south, even past the ridge." Waris's voice
contained puzzlement.

"That far south?" asked Feran.

"It could be an ambush," Alucius suggested. "The Matrites attack
farther to the south, as if trying to take the city…"

"And when the marshal tries to shift his lancers… ?" suggested
Feran.

"The spear-thrower takes care of them. Or they could just be trying
to take the city and using the spear-thrower as a way to keep the
Southern Guard from reaching them directly. If the marshal doesn't
use the ring road but the high road, the Matrites take the ring road,
and then all the Southern Guard is trapped inside the ring road."

Alucius turned to Fewal, who had been riding behind him with
Dhaget and Roncar. "You ride to the fort. Try to get the message
to Marshal Alyniat that the Matrites are moving to attack here with
the crystal spear-thrower and that another force is continuing
southward outside the ring road. Tell him that we're moving against
the spear-thrower, but that will take all our forces."

"Yes, sir."

Once Fewal had left, Alucius turned back to Waris. "You and Rakalt
head down the narrow ridge, the one we're taking. Halfway down,
short of where we'll move into the gulch, and keep an eye out."

"Yes, sir." Waris urged his mount away from the column and was
joined by Rakalt a hundred yards ahead, beyond the lancers' clear
sight in the darkness, but not beyond Alucius's vision or the range
of his Talent.

As he kept riding westward, Alucius let his Talent study the
darkness to the north and west. He stiffened in the saddle, not
because of the weave of lifethreads from all the lancers on both
sides, but because of what he had not expected. Fine pink threads
from the Matrite forces soared to the north, in the direction of
Hieron. While Alucius had the feeling that not every Matrite lancer
wore a silver torque, there were enough that the combined
luminescence of those evil-feeling pink threads seemed to cast a
purplish pink light. That pinkish cast was unseen and unfelt, except
to those who could see it with Talent.

As with the first time he had truly seen not only lifewebs, but
torque-threads filling the sky, Alucius was silent for a long moment,
taking in the subtle weave that filled the entire darkening skies with
the warp and weft of intertwining lifewebs, webs that somehow
never touched. Against the soft Tightness of the living web, the
purplish pink was shudderingly wrong, an oppressive chain
weighing on the lifethread of each man or woman who wore a
collar. Alucius half wondered how he had survived such a collar for
so long.

Feran cleared his throat. "You're worried about something. What?"

Alucius smiled wryly. He'd betrayed too much in his surprise.
"There's a feeling out there." He knew that he had destroyed the
crystal that controlled the torques—and the Matrial. Or rather, the
destruction of the crystal had destroyed the Matrial. Had the
Regent rediscovered that secret and created another crystal?

"And what exactly is that feeling?" asked Feran.

"They've repowered the torques, the silver collars of the Matrial. I
can feel it from here."

"Told you this was all part of something bigger," murmured the
older man.

"I agreed with you." Although he had wondered about how the
Matrites were forcing their attacks, he hadn't thought about the
torques in some time. Were they connected with the ifrits? Or was
he just trying to find a pattern that didn't exist?

They rode another vingt, past several small watch posts, where
Alucius had to identify himself, before they reached the section of
the ring road where Bakka waited.

"Sir… Waris says there's no one on this ridge below. He also says
that you'd better take it slow down the path."

"Thank you. We will." Alucius turned. "Single file! Silent riding,
Follow me!"

He turned the gray off the ring road and down onto the steep and
narrow path that wound northward, a path difficult enough to travel
in the light. But that was why he was riding first, Alucius told
himself. Still, traveling the path in the darkness, under only the light
of the stars and the tiny half-disc of Asterta, was safer than waiting
on the ring road and facing the spear-thrower.

Half a glass passed, and Alucius had traveled only less than a third
of the way down the path to where the ridge flattened, and where
the lancers could move more quickly to the southwest and the
ancient black lava ledge that would conceal them from the Matrites
once the sky lightened. He forced himself to be patient and keep
moving.

Another half glass passed, and Alucius could sense the Matrite
forces and the wagons on the ridge to the south, but they seemed
to be moving more slowly than he had anticipated. He allowed
himself the hope that moving their heavy equipment upslope, even
up a gentle dirt road, had proved more time-consuming than the
Matrite commanders had calculated. He could also sense the
heavy wagon, the one carrying the spear-thrower, and behind it the
wagons carrying the sand that fed it. All four wagons were below
where Alucius intended to place his own forces.

The faintest tinge of gray was coloring the sky above the ring road
when the last of Thirty-fifth Company's lancers rode into position
behind the ledge. Alucius let himself heave a sigh of relief. At the
very least, the companies were shielded from direct fire from the
crystal spear-thrower, and the Matrites were only slightly uphill of
his men, if on the adjoining ridge. His men would have to sweep
down another two hundred yards to reach the swale that connected
the two ridges, but farther down there was no cover for them.

Alucius dismounted and handed the gray's reins to Dhaget, then
turned and looked up at Feran, who lay in a notch in the lava, from
where he could view the adjoining ridge. "You'll have to watch the
crystal spear-thrower. No one moves until you're satisfied that it's
disabled."

"I think I can manage that."

"Good." With one rifle in hand, Alucius walked downslope a good
hundred yards, still behind the lava.

There, half concealed by Talent, and half by his own dark uniform,
Alucius climbed over the now-much-lower lava and dropped to the
hard ground on the other side. Keeping low, he tried to move down
into the gully and back upward. He was sweating heavily and
panting by the time he pulled himself over the rim of the gully on
the south side. He felt like anyone could have heard him a vingt
away, but there were neither Matrite foot or lancers within a
hundred yards.

He forced himself to pause and let his breathing subside before he
began to move in a crouch uphill through the lightening darkness
and toward where the heavy wagon had stopped. He could sense
that a group of engineers had gathered around the wagon and
begun to dig into the hillside, as if to level the wagon somewhat.

How close would he have to get to use his Talent? Was the
weapon powered up enough so that he could?

He let his Talent range toward the device.

The weapon was inert… dead… unpowered, and Alucius could not
bring enough Talent force or lifeforce to do anything to the
assemblage of wires and crystals and other components that he
had neither words nor knowledge to describe.

Below him, he could hear a voice.

"There's a Talent-wielder somewhere up here."

Alucius's lips tightened. He should have expected a Matrite Talent-
officer. He should have, especially protecting the spear-thrower.

"Aim to your right more. Just sweep the area."

In the darkness, Alucius scrambled toward the edge of the gully,
dropping into a ditchlike depression just short of a far deeper drop-
off.

Shots pierced the predawn gray, and he could sense the bullets a
fraction of a yard above his head. Lying there, with more bullets
passing above him, he extended a Talent-probe downhill, seeking
the brighter lifethread of the Talent officer.

She was riding uphill in his direction, with a small squad, calling out
instructions. Those instructions were far too accurate.

Alucius would have preferred to use his rifle, but the Matrite shots
were so close that lifting his head could have been fatal. Doing
nothing was also likely to be fatal before very long.

He extended the Talent-probe toward the officer, seeking the
lifethread nodes. Her main node was unprotected, and he twisted.
An unseen spray of brown and green was followed by the fall of
her lifeless body from the saddle.

"Talent-wielder got her!"

"Keep shooting!"

"Where? There's no one anywhere."

"Got to be somewhere!"

A sheet of bullets passed overhead. Alucius resisted the urge to
fire back and, keeping on the precarious edge of the gully, began
to crawl, then scramble uphill. Going in a half crawl, half crouch was
hard on his legs, his feet, and his lungs, and he kept having to stop
to catch his breath. The rifle felt like a long, heavy weight. The sky
was turning from deep black green to dark silver green by the time
Alucius had scrabbled his way uphill another three hundred yards.

He tried once more with his Talent to explore the spear-thrower,
but it was still depowered. He was also stretching to reach it with
his Talent.

The small squad that had been with the Talent officer had begun to
move forward toward a point just below where Alucius had almost
been shot, but they were moving too carefully, he thought, to be
able to track him before he got into position to do something about
the crystal spear-thrower.

He kept moving, making another fifty yards, so that he was at the
edge of the gully, flat on his stomach on a slope that was steep
enough that he would slide down into a fifty-yard drop if he moved
incautiously or lost his footholds. Although his Talent was
supposed to be shielding him from view from below, he felt
horribly exposed.

The sense of a crack echoed around him, and he could feel the
energy building from the spear-thrower, which was positioned only
a half vingt below the ring road, with its discharge formulator
pointed at the road itself.

"There they are!"

A single trumpet blast echoed across the ridge from the ring road,
and a company of Southern Guards appeared and charged
downhill.

Alucius winced. He hadn't even begun to try to work out how to
deal with the weapon. A nimbus of pinkish energy flared up around
the spear-thrower, followed by a humming that quickly rose to a
high-pitched whine and abruptly stopped. With the end of the
whining, miniature crystalline spears formed a yard beyond the
crystal muzzle of the device, then flashed outward so quickly that
sunbeams seemed to radiate from the weapon rather than crystal
projectiles. The deadly spray struck the center of the oncoming
lancers, disintegrating them into a pinkish spray.

Alucius forced himself to ignore the wave of death and concentrate
on the weapon itself, extending a Talent-probe. The probe was
repelled from the nimbus of unseen pinkish light, repelled by the
strength of that light. Alucius forced himself to probe around the
weapon; but the only place where the shield did not extend was
that point where the spears seemed to form before they were
accelerated outward.

He turned his probe and extended it behind the formation point.

The shock of raw power slammed back through his probe with
such force that Alucius had to release the probe and concentrate
on keeping his balance to avoid slipping, then sliding, to the drop-
off below him.

His shield wavered in the effort.

"There's someone up there!"

He managed to get his balance back and recover the Talent shield.

"Where?"

"Up there, below the machine on the side."

Another wave of Southern Guards vanished in pinkish spray, and
their deaths washed across Alucius. He swallowed and tried to get
his concentration back.

What about using the rifle, wrapping lifeforce around the bullets?

He crawled upward and forward until he could just ease the rifle
over the edge of the rim of the gully. Then he focused on infusing
the bullets with lifeforce. He aimed at the spear-thrower, narrowing
his concentration, and squeezed the trigger, once, twice, three
times.

A brief flare of energy flashed from the side of the spear-thrower
with each impact, but there was no sense that even one of the
bullets had had any real effect on the Matrite weapon.

A line of bullets plowed into the rim of the gully less than five yards
below him.

What could Alucius do? The soarers said that everything had
nodes. Could he find something like a node in the weapon,
something that would undo a key part?

He extended his Talent probe again, this time keeping it flexible.

There were no nodes—not like those of people or ifrits. But there
were hard diamondlike glittering Talentlike points that rotated
around the point where the spears were formed. Alurius tried to
slow them in their rotation, but that was like trying to halt a huge iron
wagon wheel headed downhill. If he hung on, he'd be crushed.

What if he pushed it faster?

He lent his strength to try to hurry the diamond nodes.

Suddenly, the tiniest thread trailed from one diamond node, and
Alucius grasped it with his probe and began to pull it. The node
unraveled, and the following node shifted, as if to try to take the
place of the first, and additional smaller threads appeared.

Alucius could suddenly feel the discharge formulator, hard and
impervious crystal, begin to sag, as if melting. He used his probe
to tug at more and more of the threads.

Then… a surge of power, seemingly rising from everywhere,
poured into the spear-thrower.

Alucius dropped his probe and concentrated on forming a
greenish Talent-shield around himself, barely getting it over himself
when a roar of flame and force exploded from the spear-thrower.

Metal and crystal exploded everywhere, and in all directions,
scything outward.

So much death followed the destruction of the weapon that for
several long moments, Alucius was numb, deaf, blind. He just lay
under his shields, waiting for the patter of metal and crystal rain to
stop.

Then he began to inch his body upward and over the top edge of
the gully.

"Companies! Forward!" came Feran's order from below on the
adjoining ridge.

Slowly, Alucius stood and surveyed the flat ridge before him. The
explosion had scythed crystal and death through the Matrite force
and through the few remaining Southern Guards who had
attempted to attack the spear-thrower before Alucius could disable
it. He had to swallow hard to keep from retching. Everywhere were
small gobbets of things—flesh, wood, metal, brush, dirt, and all
were pinkish. He looked down. There was even a pinkish film on
his own boots.

The destruction had created a circle only a vingt or so in diameter,
and there were still two companies or more of Matrites lower on the
ridge. Feran's charge had caught them while they were still stunned
by the devastation.

Rifle in hand, Alucius began to walk down the ridge.

He'd covered about two hundred yards when three riders appeared
leading his gray. Dhaget was in the lead, and Alucius was more
than glad to see him.

"Sir! Thought you might like a mount!"

Alucius swung into the saddle, but by the time he had ridden down
toward the fighting, the few surviving Matrites had pulled clear and
were riding southward hard. A sense of more regret and anger
washed over him. He wished he'd been able to be part of the
attack, to wield his sabre somehow, tired as he was. But the
Matrites had retreated so quickly that pursuing would have been
stupidity. Besides, there was still another spear-thrower to destroy.

Feran had ordered a recall, and the three companies re-formed as
Alucius neared. Alucius reined up short of the overcaptain.

Feran looked at Alucius. Alucius knew he was a sight, black skull
mask still in place, with smears of blood and other things across
his uniform. Jultyr and Deotyr rode up within moments. All three
officers looked at Alucius.

"Sir, we engaged and broke off as ordered. Fifth Company, three
dead, five wounded."

"Sir, Thirty-fifth Company, ten dead, eight wounded."

"Twenty-eighth Company, seven dead, six wounded."

"Thank you. We'll ride straight up to the ring road, banners ahead."

"Banners forward, column, forward!"

Feran rode up beside Alucius. "How did you manage to escape
that?"

"I was hanging over the side of the gully when it exploded."

"I won't ask about the rest, Colonel."

"You don't want to know," Alucius said tiredly. Belatedly, he
realized that he hadn't fired a single shot from his rifle at any of the
Matrites—just three useless shots at the spear-thrower.

"I learned that a long time ago. How many Matrite companies were
there up there?"

"Three… could have been four. There was a Southern Guard
company, too. Most of them had been killed before…" Alucius
shook his head, reaching down to take the rifle out and reload it. He
should have done that sooner.

Again, behind him, he could hear the murmurs.

"… walked out of that…"

"… blood all over him… none of it his…"

Except, Alucius thought, I'm responsible for all the blood.
Chapter 88

Even before they had reached the top of the ridge and the ring
road, Alucius sent Roncar ahead to the main road fort to report the
total destruction of one crystal spear-thrower and three Matrite
companies. He'd also worried off the skull mask and slipped it
inside his tunic. At the top of the ridge and the edge of the ring
road, a Southern Guard squad leader rode forward from the
handful of lancers that remained from his company.

"Sir?" The squad leader's eyes took in the insignia and the blood
streaks across Alucius's uniform. "Colonel, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any orders for us, sir? Majer Storynst and Captain
Chelopyr… they got taken out by that spear-thrower… most of the
companies, too." His eyes narrowed. "You were the one walking
across the ridge, sir? "

"I was the one," Alucius replied hurriedly, taking in the no more than
two squads remaining from what had to have been two companies.
"For right now, you'd better patrol this area. You see that road
down there? That offers the Matrites easy access to the ring road.
We need to be heading east to deal with the other spear-thrower,
and someone needs to make sure that they don't change their
position and try this approach again. I'll let the marshal know that
you're here. What company?"

"Seventeenth and Nineteenth, sir. What's left of them."

"If you see any sign of more Matrite forces, send a messenger to
the marshal."

"Yes, sir."

As he finished speaking, Alucius could feel his body shaking all
over. Once his force had all reached the ring road and formed up
in a column heading eastward, he managed a long swallow from
his water bottle and began to eat some hard travel bread, followed
by some salted almonds they had gotten from the quartermaster.

They'd traveled less than a vingt when Alucius could see another
body of riders moving toward them at a quick trot. By then he'd
eaten and drunk enough that most of the shakiness had subsided.

"Banners forward!"

Before long, Alucius was reined up opposite another colonel.

"The Matrites are attacking on the south ends of the ring road, both
east and west," said the captain-colonel, a man Alucius had seen
at officers' call but had not met. "Are you sure, sir, that you should
be headed east?"

Alucius fixed the other with silver-gray eyes that turned metal-hard.
"We've been fighting since well before dawn, Colonel. We've
destroyed one of the crystal spear-throwers, and we're riding
toward the other one to see what we can do before it slaughters
most of the Lanachronan forces on the east side of Southgate."

For the first time, the older colonel's eyes took in the blood and
gore on the Northern Guard uniforms. His eyes did not quite meet
those of Alucius. "Ah… yes, sir."

"Two Southern Guard companies attacked the spear-thrower
prematurely, before we could take it out. There are fewer than two
squads left. They've mounted a patrol there, to watch for any other
Matrite companies. You can obtain the details from them, if you'd
like. The longer we delay, the more Southern Guards will die. Good
day, Colonel."

" Good day, sir."

Alucius moved to the right side of the road. "Single file, until we
pass!"

"Single file."

Neither Feran nor Alucius spoke until they were past the four
companies of Southern Guards.

"Idiots…" Alucius finally muttered. "Told Alyniat that they wouldn't
do a frontal assault. Told him we shouldn't do any against the
spear-throwers. No wonder they're losing what they'd held."

"It makes you wonder," Feran returned. "You still think supporting
the Lord-Protector is that good an idea?"

"Good? No. Better than all the alternatives? Yes."

"You're being so optimistic again, Colonel." Feran's voice dripped
irony.

"I have to be. The Regent has figured out how to power those
silver torques, and that's worse than anything in Lanachrona."

"If only those idiot traders in Dekhron had been willing to spend a
few thousand more golds five years ago… I'd wager that they still
don't understand."

"You'd win. Most of them are dead, one way or another."

"Figures." Feran snorted. "Left us alive with a mess to clean up."

They rode on for a vingt and a half before seeing another force
ahead, seemingly smaller than the first, but also hurrying
southward.

An overcaptain rode forward, took one look at Alucius and inclined
his head. "Permission to pass, single file, sir?"

"Permission granted, overcaptain," Alucius replied.

Alucius kept track as the two sets of lancers passed each other,
and from what he saw, the overcaptain had two companies with
him.

Over the next two vingts, they saw no more Southern Guards,
except for the scattered handfuls on ring road patrol. By the time
Alucius and his forces neared the coastal high road, it was still
early morning.

Even from the west side of the road cut overlooking the high road,
Alucius could tell that the Southern Guard encampment was
deserted, except for scattered riders and wagons. Cook fires were
out, and even the main road fort looked to have fewer lancers
around and within the courtyard.

"They've sent most everyone south," Feran suggested.

"Where they'll arrive tired and suffer unnecessary casualties."
Alucius stretched in the saddle. "We'll take a break for a glass.
Make sure everyone eats and that the mounts are fed and watered.
If you and the captains can weasel or beg more supplies quickly,
do it."

"You're not thinking… ?"

"I still think we can pull out some sort of a victory, but it won't be
easy, and finding supplies later is going to be tough."

"Getting them any way is tough."

"That's true," Alucius agreed. "Break for a glass. No more than a
glass and a half." He reined up, trying not to think about what lay to
the southeast.
Chapter 89

While the three companies had taken a break and the officers had
worked at getting more supplies, Alucius had gone to see if
Marshal Alyniat had remained. But the marshal had reportedly
headed southeast to direct the battles there, leaving but a junior
captain and some messengers to relay information.

Still, well before midmorning, Alucius and his lancers were back in
the saddle again, this time headed east toward the other high road
and its fort. They'd found little enough in the way of supplies,
except travel bread and more cartridges for the Southern Guards.
Another fight or two, and Fifth Company would be out of
ammunition, but Alucius would have to worry about that later.

The stillness of the early morning had given way to a cool wind out
of the southeast, a wind that, for all its mildness, carried a hint of
late fall or winter rawness. On the entire stretch of ring road
between the two major road forts, they passed no one, except the
handful of sentries. Most of them looked worried.

After another break for rations and water at the eastern road fort,
also largely deserted, they crossed the southwest high road and
followed the ring road as it curved southward. To the southwest,
Alucius could see thunderclouds building. The storms did not
seem to be moving eastward but were hanging over the coast that
he had yet to see.

"You knew they wouldn't attack the road forts, didn't you?" Feran
asked after a long period of silence.

"I didn't know. I just thought it was unlikely. The Matrites don't
usually fight as well, but in my experience they also don't make
obviously stupid attacks. Attacking the road forts first would have
been both obvious and stupid."

"Are you trying to become arms-commander of all Lanachrona?"
Feran's tone was humorous.

"Legacies, no! I just want to get rid of the crystal spear-throwers
and head back to the Iron Valleys. Sooner rather than later."

"And what if the Lord-Protector has another one of his 'requests'?
He doesn't seem inclined to let us go that easily."

Alucius groaned. "It would have to be awfully convincing to make
me stay… or ask Fifth Company to."

"I'll remind you of that… Colonel."

"I have no doubts about that," Alucius replied.

"Good." Feran grinned, but the expression faded quickly.

They rode south on the ring road for four glasses before reaching
the southeast high road and another near-deserted Southern
Guard encampment. After a half-glass break, they continued
southward for close to another two glasses, to the outskirts of an
encampment centered on a small road fort—a circular stone
structure no more than ten yards in diameter and with walls not
quite three yards high.

A young-faced captain was stationed north of the encampment,
mounted, with two lancers beside him. One held a thin sheaf of
papers.

"Column, halt!" Alucius ordered before riding forward, the late-
afternoon sun slanting into his eyes.

"Sir?"

"Colonel Alucius, with the Fifth Northern Guard and Twenty-eighth
and Thirty-fifth Southern Guard."

"Yes, sir." The captain looked at the lancer with the papers.

"Black."

"The black area is yours, Colonel. Straight ahead and then downhill
to the right. You'll see the black banners on poles. There should be
rations and water barrels there."

"Thank you."

After they had passed the captain, Feran turned to Alucius. "I don't
like it when they've got everything organized this way. It makes me
feel like they've got a surprise I won't like. More than one."

"They probably do."

"You're being optimistic again, Colonel."

"Comes from my cheerful nature."

As they headed down the long and gradual slope westward from
the ring road, following a path recently created by hundreds of
mounts before them, both officers could see the open space
marked out with four poles, each with a strip of black cloth. On a
ground cloth were what looked to be some form of rations. Five
large barrels were also set out at intervals. A single Southern
Guard was stationed there.

Alucius had barely reined up at the edge of the area, and had not
even had a chance to dismount, before he saw Roncar riding
toward him. The lancer's narrow face showed both concern and
relief. "Sir!"

"What is it, Roncar?"

"Marshal Alyniat wants to see you. Right now, sir."

"Where is he?"

"He's in the tent, sir, there on the hill, just below the fort. He said
that he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived."

Alucius turned the gray.

"Remember, Colonel," Feran called. "A very good reason."

"I'll remember that, Overcaptain."

Roncar eased his mount up beside Alucius. "The Matrites are only
about five vingts south of here, sir. They hold the entire ring road
from there to the ocean, and they've been moving north a few
hundred yards at a time. They've used the other spear-thrower, and
they haven't lost many lancers. The marshal's scouts say that they
haven't moved toward the city, but they could at any time. After you
smashed the crystal spear-thrower in the west, the companies he
sent west have kept the ring road there, so there's not much
danger yet of being attacked from the north and west on the ring
road."

"Thank you. Do you know what the Southern Guard casualties
are?"

"No one's saying, sir. Besides the two companies that they lost on
the ridge, I've heard words that Colonel Cyrosyr and his force of
six companies had been wiped out almost to the last man. Less
than two squads remaining."

That didn't surprise Alucius, but he had hoped that they wouldn't
have to deal with the spear-thrower immediately. That hope
appeared less and less likely.

He reined up short of the lancers surrounding the tent, dismounted,
and handed the gray's reins to Roncar.

An undercaptain stood beside the guards. "Colonel Alucius?"

Alucius nodded. "We just rode in."

"The marshal's in the tent, sir. Just go on in. He said to send you in
whenever you got here."

"Thank you, Undercaptain." As Alucius stepped past the lancers,
he caught the slightest whisper from the lancers well to the side.

"…see all the blood…"

"… you expect? That one's a fighting commander…"

Stupid commander as well? Alucius wondered as he lifted the tent
flap and stepped inside into an area no more than three yards by
four.

Alyniat was sitting on a stool before a small table strewn with maps.
A lock of hair more silver than blond fell across his forehead, and
the circles under his eyes were deep and black. He looked up from
the maps at Alucius, taking in the bloodied uniform.

"Sir," Alucius said.

"You've made decent time, Colonel. I received your report about
destroying the crystal spear-thrower and the annihilation of four to
five Matrite companies." Alyniat paused. "I hate to sound
ungrateful, but… couldn't you have found some way to capture it,
Colonel? It would have been so much more useful to us that way,
especially under the circumstances."

For some reason, Alyniat's phrasing of "under the circumstances"
grated on Alucius. "I'm sure it would have been, sir," Alucius
replied. "It's not designed to be captured."

"Not designed to be captured?"

"I can't explain, sir, but it's like… like gunpowder shielded by flame.
You break through the flame, and the gunpowder explodes."

"Use the equivalent of water, perhaps…"

"I can only try."

"If you don't capture one, only destroy them, what's to prevent
them from building more?"

"It takes years to do that, sir, and I understand it's most costly. If
they even can."

"Even can?" Alyniat raised his eyebrows.

"The last time one was destroyed, there was only one engineer
who knew enough to re-create it. It takes special equipment. I don't
know if he is still alive."

"Are you certain you can't find a way to capture one?"

Alucius considered for a moment. Was there any way he could
have stopped the device? Just stopped it? Finally, he spoke. "I
couldn't find any way with the first one. I'll certainly keep that
possibility open, sir, when we try to deal with the second one."

"I'd be most grateful if you would. Our losses are not
inconsiderable."

"Where is the second one?"

"Oh… about five vingts south of here, moving toward us. We're
trying to slow them down with rifle fire from behind berms and the
like, but the terrain here is far flatter than on the west side of
Southgate. As you know, attacking it directly is foolish and fatal.
They're advancing up the ring road with it as a spearhead. They
haven't sent companies into Southgate yet, but if they can reach
where we are now, we'll have to consider pulling out of Southgate."

"As soon as the men get something to eat, and the mounts get
some feed and water, we'll head south," Alucius said.

"That might be for the best."

Best for whom? It might be best for the Lanachronans and
perhaps the people of Southgate, but it wasn't likely to be easy on
Alucius and his forces. "Yes, sir."

"Colonel?"

"Sir?"

"We've lost enough lancers that, even if you do destroy another
five Matrite companies and the spear-thrower, no one will be calling
you a hero."

"Sir… I came here because I was asked to come. I didn't come to
be a hero. And, sir, I didn't ask for that the last three times I've
bailed out Lanachrona. Good day, Marshal." Alucius turned and
slipped out of the tent. As he mounted the gray and rode back
toward his companies, he knew he shouldn't have reacted so
strongly, but all he wanted to do was to destroy the spear-thrower
and return to the Iron Valleys. Even being colonel of the Northern
Guard would be a pleasure compared to dealing with the politics of
Lanachrona and the Southern Guard. And if his reaction to Alyniat
made sure he wouldn't be colonel… well, that was fine, too.

He was still seething when he reined up near Feran and
dismounted, slipping the feed bag for the gray into place—a feed
bag that Feran had thoughtfully readied.

"You're angry," Feran observed. "What happened?"

"The marshal suggested that even if we destroyed another five
Matrite companies and the crystal spear-thrower, we wouldn't be
heroes. He also wanted to know why we couldn't capture the
weapon, rather than destroying it. 'That would have been so much
more useful, Colonel.'" Alucius's mockery of Alyniat's words was
edged.

"And you still want to go after it?"

"If we don't destroy it, we'll end up in a worse mess, and one that
will have us fighting for our lives across the Iron Valleys, possibly in
weeks, certainly in months." Alucius lifted his water bottle. It was
empty. "Legacies! I need to refill the water bottles and get
something to eat. How soon can we move out?"

"As soon as your water bottles are full and the gray has some
water," Feran replied. "Waris was nosing around, and the rumors
are that the Matrites are less than five vingts south and moving
forward behind the spear-thrower."

"That's what the marshal said."

"Sir!"

Alucius turned. A lancer rode toward him bearing a small keg. The
lancer was Skant.

"Got a keg. Used to have ale, but I drew the water myself."

"Thank you, Skant. I appreciate that." Alucius looked to Roncar.
"Did you have a chance to refill your water bottles?"

"Yes, sir. But thank you, sir."

With Skant holding the keg, Alucius refilled all three bottles and
replaced them in their holders.

Within a quarter glass, the three companies were riding south on
the ring road. As he rode southward, Alucius took out the maps
and studied them once more. Unlike the northern section of the
ring road, or the western and southwestern sections, the ring road
to the east and south was much lower, rising less than ten yards
above the arid rolling plains to the east. Even the lands inside the
road were almost equally fiat. That gave whoever held the road a
tremendous advantage.

No matter how he looked at it, Alucius could come up with only one
plan. He turned to Feran. "Do we still have spades?"

"About ten in the ammunition wagon."

"That will do."

"Earthworks won't stand for long against the spear-thrower. You
know that."

"I know. But they'll last just long enough." Alucius went on to
explain. "I want enough lancers to be firing at the Matrites that they
don't study what's off to the side of the road where it looks clear."

"You're thinking of being out front? "

Alucius shrugged. "I can't see anything else that will work. Can
you?"

"One of these days, someone's going to shoot you."

"They already have, you might recall. Several times."

"You might not survive it the next time."

Alucius laughed. "Anything else I can come up with means they get
more shots at me."

They'd ridden slightly less than a vingt when they saw about ten
lancers moving slowly toward them in single file. All were wounded
and splattered with blood.

"Waris… if you could find out how far from here the fighting is?"

"Yes, sir." The scout rode ahead to meet the retreating and
wounded lancers before they reached Alucius and his companies.

Waris returned shortly, as the wounded lancers moved single file
on the west side of the road past Alucius's forces. The scout
turned his mount to ride alongside Alucius and Feran.

"The Matrites are a little more than three vingts ahead, according to
the roadstones," Waris reported. "There's a Southern Guard force
of about four companies maybe a vingt and a half in front of us,
near the next set of sentry boxes."

Alucius checked his maps. "That should do." He wondered who
was in command of the Southern Guard forces.

A vingt later, Alucius found out.

The dark-haired colonel who rode toward the column looked
familiar—Hubar. Alucius held in a tight smile. He shouldn't have
been so hard on the man. Now, he'd probably end up paying
something in return. At least, it wasn't Sarthat. That… that would
really have made things difficult.

"Colonel Hubar."

Hubar looked at Alucius, taking in the majer-colonel's insignia on
Alucius's tunic collar. "So… you think you can pull this out,
Colonel?" The contempt in the older man's voice was barely
veiled.

"I won't know until we try, will we?" Alucius paused but briefly, then
added, "We did manage to destroy the other crystal spear-thrower
at around dawn this morning, and we've been making our way here
ever since."

Hubar studied Alucius and his uniform. "I suppose that explains the
blood."

"We also managed to kill about five companies of Matrites."

Hubar looked at Alucius. "What do you want from us? I'd prefer no
frontal charges, sir."

"I don't want any. They'd just get lancers killed here." Alucius
gestured to the small stone watch posts on each side of the road.
"We'll be setting up a line of earthworks here, ten yards on either
side of the road. A trench deep enough to protect a lancer from
stray bullets."

"That won't—"

"I know. It won't stop the spear-thrower once it gets within a few
hundred yards. But my lancers will be firing at a greater distance
than that." Alucius turned in the saddle and gestured to the low rise
to the west and back north almost a quarter vingt. "I'd like most of
your force formed up on that knoll—in a way that's visible for at
least two vingts."

Hubar frowned.

"I don't want them to attack. I want the Matrites to be watching
them. I'd like your men to fire at the Matrites near the edge of your
range and keep it up until my lancers start firing. Then your men
can pull back. They can use the back side of the knoll as cover and
circle back to the ring road, if necessary. If we're successful,
though, they should be prepared to join our companies in a full
attack on the remaining Matrites. The Matrites should be
disorganized, and the more lancers we can bring to bear, the fewer
survivors they'll have."

"Fewer survivors?" Hubar's mouth remained slightly open.

"Neither the Lord-Protector nor Marshal Alyniat nor I want to fight
this war again anytime soon. Wars are hard to fight without troops."

"Yes, sir. That's if you and your men destroy or disable the spear-
thrower. "

"That's correct. You can watch Overcaptain Feran."

"What about you?"

"I'm part of the team assigned to destroy the spear-thrower. It
takes a herder, and I'm the only one left around here."

Hubar nodded slowly. "Well form up now."

"Thank you."

Hubar nodded brusquely, then rode back toward the ranked
companies. Shortly, they began to angle down the slope on the
western side of the road.

Alucius turned to Jultyr and Deotyr. "You see what Colonel Hubar's
doing?"

"Yes, sir."

"There's a similar rise out to the east, but it's forward of where we
are. You're to place your companies in staggered firing order
there. As soon as the Matrites come within the edge of your range,
I want you to start firing on them. At that distance, I know you won't
hit many, but I want you to keep firing until it looks like they're about
to turn the spear-thrower on you. Then pull back about half a vingt
and take what cover you can behind that next rise. If everything
goes as before, something will happen to the spear-thrower, and
that's when you'll join with Fifth Company and charge the survivors.
Is that clear?"

"Sir… did you mean that about slaughtering them all?"

"I should have been more clear. If someone's down, disarmed,
and disabled, don't bother with them. But no quarter for anyone
who's fighting. There's no need to slaughter anyone who can't fight
or isn't fighting."

"Yes, sir." Deotyr looked relieved.

"I told Hubar that because without those kinds of orders he won't
understand the kind of battle we're in. Captains, go ahead out to
that rise and form up."

"Yes, sir." Jultyr and Deotyr replied almost simultaneously, then
turned their mounts back toward their companies.

"Now," Alucius continued, "I need two spades. Dhaget, get the
spades and join Fewal and Roncar and me farther south on the
road." He turned to Feran. "Overcaptain, can you get the trenches
dug here? Do you think that two lines will be enough? Staggered
so that the lancers firing won't get hit by the ones behind them?"

"We can do that, sir."

"You'll start firing, slowly at first, once the Southern Guard
companies pull back. I want the Matrites worried about rifle fire. But
make sure you pull back before that spear-thrower can reach you."

"Yes, sir," Feran replied. "How long after that… ?"

"I don't know. I don't know its range. It's less than a vingt, but how
close it will have to get, that I don't know." Alucius looked
southward past the stone sentry boxes. "We'd better find what we
need."

He urged the gray forward, riding roughly half a vingt farther south
before reining up. From the inner shoulder of the ring road he
studied the ground, using his Talent, finally finding a spot on the
slope about twenty yards to the west of the road, and as the
ground slanted, perhaps three or four yards lower than the edge of
the ring road. He dismounted, handing the gray's reins to Fewal
and walking down the slope. Finally, he nodded.

He only had to wait a few moments more before Dhaget rode up
with the shovels.

"There's some rock here, but dig right behind it, only about a yard
and a half wide and two yards long."

"How deep, sir?" asked Roncar, who, along with Dhaget, had
dismounted and brought a shovel down to where Alucius stood.

"I'd like at least a yard."

As his messengers dug, Alucius watched the road to the south,
where in the distance he could see riders and a darkish blob above
a wagon, most probably the spear-thrower. Occasionally, he heard
the sound of a rifle, but that could have come from anywhere.

It was almost half a glass later before the slit trench was finished to
Alucius's satisfaction. He pulled out the top rifle from the saddle
case and looked at the three messengers. "Same as before. Once
the spear-thrower's gone, and it looks halfway clear, see if you can
get to me with a mount."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, you need to get back before the Matrites get close enough
to see exactly where you are." Alucius settled into the trench,
listening as the sound of hoofs receded.

For a quarter of a glass, he watched the sky, but the hazy silver
green looked the same everywhere, and the thunderclouds to the
south had seemingly never crossed the coast. Then he used his
Talent to explore the ground around him. As he'd discovered
earlier, there was a "dead" layer perhaps three or four yards
beneath him, suggesting that whatever had killed everything in that
section of ground had occurred before the ring road had been
built, perhaps hundreds if not thousands of years before.

Then he extended his Talent senses once more, noting that his
Southern Guard companies were in position, as were Colonel
Hubar's forces, and that the Matrites were little more than a vingt to
the south. Shortly, the rifles of the Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth
Companies opened fire, a solid series of volleys.

The Matrites did not return fire, but Alucius also could not sense
any power in the crystal spear-thrower. He frowned. Were they
using it as a bluff? Or trying to avoid using it too much?

The volleys from the two Southern Guard companies continued,
and Alucius could feel the occasional wound or death from the
Matrite companies flanking and following the spear-thrower.

Volleys began from Hubar's Southern Guard companies, and still
the spear-thrower had not been powered up.

The heavier bullets from Fifth Company began to fly over Alucius's
head, and Hubar's lancers began to pull back.

Craaackk… Energy began to build rapidly within the approaching
spear-thrower.

Alucius swallowed, hoping that Jultyr and Deotyr would drop back
before the spear-thrower reached full power, and the Matrites
turned it northeast toward them.

He could sense the lancers of his two Southern Guard companies
pulling back, but the spear-thrower also seemed to be casting its
deadly weapons toward them. Alucius took a breath as he sensed
the spears falling short—mostly. He could also sense a death or
two.

Hubar's Southern Guards continued to pull back, and Alucius
hoped that they hadn't been too late in retreating.

He had to ignore those and concentrate on the weapon itself,
extending his own Talent-probe in a way to avoid the shielding
nimbus of unseen pinkish light that englobed the spear-
thrower—except at the point where the spears formed and were
accelerated outward.

There he twisted his Talent-probe toward the glittering Talentlike
diamond nodes that rotated around the spear-formation point.
Recalling his promise to Alyniat, he tried to tease out one of the
threads he knew were within the node, but the node remained
solid. This time, he tried to trace out the forces that propelled the
nodes, but there were no threads there, at least none that were
unprotected by the pinkish shield.

Then he tried twisting one of the nodes, but his Talent-probe
couldn't budge it. He tried opening it with dark lifeforce, spinning it,
but the nodes kept moving, and every so often a swath of crystal
spears flew somewhere.

By then Alucius could sense that the spear-thrower was less than
five hundred yards away and beginning to scythe its spears toward
Fifth Company. With the lancers just back of it, it wouldn't be long
before a Talent-officer spotted him. Alucius certainly couldn't
assume that there wouldn't be one.

With a deep breath, he returned to what he knew worked, lending
his strength to speeding the diamond nodes in their rotation. As
before, after a rotation and a half or so, the tiniest thread spun out
from one diamond node. Alucius Talent-grasped it and tugged.
The node began to unravel, then vanished in a flashing spray of
thread. The following node shifted forward, and all the nodes
began to trail threads. Alucius grasped them all and tugged with all
his Talent-force.

The hard and previous impervious crystal of the discharge
formulator sagged, and pinkish force built behind it, followed by an
even greater surge of power from somewhere beyond poured into
the spear-thrower.

Alucius flattened himself on the bottom of his trench and dropped
a greenish Talent-shield around himself. The ground, the shield,
and he were shaken violently. A blast of flame roared overhead,
with metal and crystal scything through the late-afternoon air.

More death and destruction followed. For a time, Alucius just lay in
the bottom of the trench, half-covered with dust and dirt that had
fallen on him—or his shield. He stayed flat until he was certain that
the rain of metal and crystal had stopped.

Then he began to inch himself upward, letting his senses range
outward.

There were still almost two companies of Matrite lancers a half
vingt south of where the crystal spear-thrower had been. Alucius
could also tell that a good half company of Hubar's lancers had
been struck down.

With all the dirt around him, he had to half dig his way out of the
trench, and it took him two attempts to struggle out of the dirt and
onto his knees beside the trench. He looked northward. Fifth
Company was formed and riding toward him.

He stood, and as he held his rifle and watched Dhaget leading the
gray toward him, he tried not to think about Frynkel's observation
on leading from the front.

"There's the colonel!"

Alucius mounted quickly, but Fifth Company was well past by the
time he was back on the road, surveying the carnage. Twenty-
eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies were moving up smartly from the
east, with Thirty-fifth a good hundred yards ahead of Deotyr and his
men. To the south, from what he'd seen and sensed, the Matrite
forces were more disorganized than those in the west had
been—but there were also more of them.

Hubar's lancers were still milling around to the northwest of the
fight, as if there were no officers to give orders. "Idiots!" he
mumbled quietly. "Just sit there like targets."

Sheathing the rifle and drawing his sabre, Alucius urged the gray
forward, moving just behind Fifth Company's fifth squad. He felt as
though he should have been leading the charge, rather than
following it. He could sense the impacts as the Northern Guard
lancers slammed into the near-motionless Matrites.

Alucius swung the gray out to the left and found himself attacked
by two Matrites. A wave of red fury surged over him at the mere
sight of the two attackers, and he pressed the gray toward them.
He slipped the first wild slash and countered with enough force that
his sabre slammed the Matrite's weapon from his hand and cut
deeply into the man. Alucius finished him with a quick cut and
twisted in the saddle to parry the violent cut of the big woman who
had attacked while he was dealing with the first Matrite. Almost
contemptuously, with a strength he had not known he had, he
deflected her blade and slash-thrust through her neck.

He moved forward, taking another Matrite from behind with a single
cut, just before the man was about to take down a Northern Guard,
also from behind.

In a moment of calm, Alucius glanced to the southeast, where a full
Matrite company charged up the hill toward the rear of Thirty-fifth
Company, engaged in hand-to-hand with the remnants of the last
Matrite companies. He looked north where two or three of Twenty-
eighth Company's squads were re-forming—a command of which
Alucius approved.

He rode partway down the slope and called out, "Twenty-eighth
Company! On me!"

"On the colonel!" Deotyr echoed.

"Forward!"

Alucius once more urged the gray forward as the Twenty-eighth
Company lancers fell in behind him. He found himself alone at the
point of attack, and the red fury took him as his sabre became a
shimmering circle of death, with lancers scrambling back from his
berserk rage. Behind him and to both sides, Twenty-eighth
Company crashed into the Matrites who had thought to surprise
Thirty-fifth Company and had been themselves surprised, if only by
the speed and fury of Alucius and those who followed.

A horn doublet sounded.

Alucius glanced around, finding himself nearly alone—except, five
yards to the east, a Matrite squad had appeared, halted, and raised
rifles.

Even before Alucius sensed the line of fire flaring toward him, he
urged the gray forward, then, instinctively, raised his sabre, as if to
block whatever it was, knowing that the gesture was futile as a huge
unseen hammer struck him and flung him from the saddle.

His last thought, with the blackness sweeping over him, as he
struggled to stay in the saddle, was that Frynkel had been right.
Leading from the front could get him killed.
Chapter 90
North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

The three sat in the main room. Wendra leaned back slightly in the
rocking chair, her feet on the lower hassock. Lucenda had taken
the end of the couch closest to Wendra. A book lay in Lucenda's
lap, closed with a leather marker in it.

Wendra looked blankly at the wall to the right of the hearth.

"Can you tell how he is?" Lucenda.

Wendra shook her head. "I should have gone south. I should
have."

"You're due in a few weeks. Then what would you do?" asked
Lucenda. "You can ride. No one can gainsay that, but having a
babe on the road… that's not wise."

"What's wise, anymore?" Wendra's lips tightened into a near-
cynical smile. "Alucius was doing what he thought best. Now…"

"If he's alive after three days, and the crystal's not fading, he'll
recover," Lucenda said.

"I worry that he'll be… Alucius isn't a man to sit around…"

"He won't sit," interjected Royalt, standing in the archway from the
kitchen. "Herders don't. Hulius lost both legs. Still herded until he
was near ninety. Fudalt…"

"Father… we know you're all indestructible, but Wendra doesn't
need to think about things like that. Besides, Alucius will be all right.
That's that." Lucenda straightened.

"Kustyl'll be bringing the goats tomorrow, Septi at the latest,"
Royalt announced.

"We don't need goats," Lucenda said.

"Maybe yes, maybe no. Kustyl's insisting. They're a gift."

"But…" Lucenda glanced at Wendra.

"His Mairee had trouble nursing," Royalt said. "He figures Wendra
won't, but Mairee insists, just in case. Says we can always use
them if we get another lamb that turns motherless or if one has
twins."

"Grandmother's always been like that," Wendra said. "That's why
her cellar has everything in it. Grandfather says it's less trouble to
store the extras than to argue about it."

"Wise man," observed Lucenda.

Wendra stiffened.

"Alucius?" asked Lucenda.

"Just a little cramp… the kind that sort of exercises things,"
Wendra said. "She's just fine."

"You still think you'll call her Alendra?"

"That's what we'd agreed on, and I still like it," replied Wendra,
shifting her weight in the chair. "I feel like a ewe with twins."

"You're small. I was out to here with Alucius." Lucenda placed her
hand a third of a yard in front of her still-slender waist.

"I know that. But I don't feel small. Especially when she kicks."

"She'll be a healthy one, no matter," Royalt observed.

"She'll be big, we think," Wendra said, "more like Alucius."

"She'll be beautiful, whatever size she is," added Lucenda.

Wendra's eyes dropped to the black crystal of the herder's ring.
"He's still strong."

"Alucius was meant for great things," Lucenda mused. "He'll be
back, strong and healthy. He's a soarer's child."

"But he's suffered so much already," Wendra said quietly.

"The great ones do," Royalt said in a low voice.

Lucenda shot a glance at her father, but Wendra only smiled sadly,
her eyes focused far beyond the wall before her.
Chapter 91

A reddish pink haze enveloped Alucius. At times it was redder and
more painful, and at other times a trace of cooling golden green
crept in. Then the haze was barely pink, and he merely felt as
though he had been staked out in the summer sun, rather than
placed on a bonfire. Every time he started to feel even slightly
cooler, the redness and heat and pain returned, and when he tried
to lift his arms to ward off the unseen sun, he could not.

He could sense water or liquid going down his throat, and even that
hurt, and the water cooled him not at all.

In time, the haze faded enough that he could make out a figure
looking down at him.

"Colonel… ? Can you hear me?"

"Yes…" Alucius half mumbled, half croaked.

"That's good. You were badly injured, but you're going to be all
right. It's going to take some time. Just try to relax."

Relax? When he alternated between burning and merely being
overheated?

Even that simple thought was enough to plunge him back into the
pinkish fog, the pink that he'd come to dislike so much.

When he woke again, he could see more clearly. He was in a
moderately wide bed in a small room with a window. A heavy splint
was strapped around his right forearm. There was gray and rain, he
thought, beyond the window, but the white walls of his room helped
in keeping the gray at bay.

Within a short time, a heavyset, gray-haired woman in pale gray
appeared beside his bed. For a time, she looked down at him.
Then she smiled, almost sadly. "You will recover. It will take time."

Alucius couldn't place her accent or her speech. It was somewhere
between Madden and Lanachronan. "How long … ?"

"You have been here more than a week. They did not think you
would live. You have two broken ribs, two cracked ribs, a broken
arm, and your chest was so badly bruised that it was bloody from
your neck to your waist. So was your right thigh. Even nightsilk
cannot save someone who has lost that much blood to bruising."

"You're cheerful," Alucius rasped.

"Much of the bruising has already healed. I have not told anyone
how badly you were injured."

"Thank you."

"You are a child of the ancients. We have not seen one in many
years." She extended a mug. "You should drink. This will help with
the healing."

Alucius drank, and in time, drained the mug.

"You're from Southgate?" he asked.

"From Dramur, years ago. Here I became the healer to the Seltyr
Benjir. He knew I did not wish to return to Dramur, and he let me
escape when the Lanachronans came. Now… you must rest. You
have many vingts yet to travel."

With the same sad smile, she stepped back. Alucius could feel the
reddish darkness creeping over him, but it was not so hot this time.

For the next few days, he drifted in and out of sleep, mostly.

One afternoon, he woke to see a figure in a Northern Guard
uniform sitting on a stool beside his bed.

"What… who…" His voice felt and sounded like his vocal cords
had been filled with sandstone and grit, but that seemed to be the
case every time he woke.

"Waris, sir. You were hurt pretty bad, they say, but it looks like
everything is healing all right. Healers don't know why, but that
doesn't matter."

"Matrites…?"

"You smashed 'em, sir, you and the overcaptain… broke their
whole center. Captain Deotyr, he'd never seen you fight in battle.
Said you took out a whole squad by yourself, the ones going after
Thirty-fifth Company. The other Southern Guard companies got it
together enough after that. We slaughtered half of 'em. Maybe
more. Captain Deotyr… he saw that they'd set up an ambush just
to try to get you… he fought like a madman. All of Twenty-eighth
Company did… they were pretty good this time. Never thought I'd
see that, not after those days back in Krost, but they were good…

"Word is that the Matrites have moved back to Hafin. Colonel
Faurad took back Dimor, too. The whole south of Madrien is back
under the Lord-Protector's control. Matrites don't do so good
without those spear-throwers."

"That was… the idea."

"Overcaptain Feran, he's got everything organized. We even got a
wagon of the right kind of ammunition yesterday. Been a little
worried about that. Didn't have much left after the big fight on the
ring road."

"Any word on going home?"

"You don't worry about that, sir. Overcaptain says we don't go until
you go. Besides, we got a few others need to heal, too. More 'n a
few, actually. About twenty."

Alucius didn't really want to ask about casualties. "How many didn't
make it?"

Waris looked away, then back at Alucius. "Both battles… we lost
thirty. Thirty-fifth Company lost thirty-five, Twenty-eighth almost
forty."

Alucius winced, and pain shot through his entire body. "Too…
many."

"No, sir. Most Southern Guard outfits, they lost fifty, sixty, out of
every hundred. Matrites lost eighty. Figure we're lucky." Waris
stood. "Healer said I shouldn't stay long, sir, but wanted you to
know everyone's glad you were in charge, want to see you back
soon."

"Thank you."

"You take care, sir."

After Waris left, Alucius looked at the window and the grayness
beyond. In winter in Southgate, was there ever sunlight?

All told, Fifth Company had taken roughly forty percent
casualties… and that was the lowest by half? What was
happening? How had the Lord-Protector and the Regent ever
gotten themselves into positions where such carnage was
necessary? And why?

The grayness of the day merged with the hot grayness of sleep
before he ever found an answer.
Chapter 92
Hieron, Madrien

The Regent stood to the right of the conference table. Because of
the rain and mist that fell outside the wide glass window, only the
southern quarter of the Park of the Matrial was visible. The
southern part of Hieron had been swallowed by gray mist and rain.
The Regent's violet eyes fixed on the officer who had just entered
the chamber.

"I have read your report, Marshal Benyal. I am not pleased. We no
longer have either crystal spear-thrower?"

"We don't even have the pieces of either, Regent." The marshal's
voice was flat and level. Her eyes met those of the Regent.

"How could that possibly happen? How could both explode in the
same campaign? In the same battle?"

"We don't know. The first one exploded as well after a period of
use, as you may recall. It may be that the weapon does not hold up
well for prolonged use."

"I find that hard to believe. A weapon whose parts endured for
more than two millennia explodes after a few weeks of use?"

"There is another possibility. We do know that there was one
company of Northern Guards in the battle. This is the first time
they've been sent south. We're fairly certain that we killed their
commander."

"What does that have to do with the crystal spear-thrower? If
anything?" Scorn colored the Regent's voice.

"Only this. The first spear-thrower failed and partly exploded in the
battle for Soulend against the Northern Guard. They were the Iron
Valley Militia then, but there may be a lamaial among their officers.
That was why we targeted the officer at Southgate. Even if the
spear-throwers were destroyed, we would not wish to suffer a
lamaial to live."

"The lamaials—always a lamaial." The Regent glared at the
marshal. "And the pieces? What of them?"

"Both weapons exploded into small fragments. The detonations
killed almost ten companies and cleared the areas where they
exploded. Without the lancers, we could not recover what scraps
there were, but the reports we did receive indicate that there were
few fragments larger than palm-sized."

"How soon can we build another?"

"We cannot. Not at present. The plans for the formulator
assemblies were lost when the engineer's revolt failed."

"One section… we are missing the plans for one section, and you
can do nothing. Could not anyone have studied that section and
created plans?"

"We had two working spear-throwers. Had we tried to take one
apart and determine its construction, there was a good chance that
we would have lost that one and still not been able to determine
how it was built."

"I will get you those plans, Marshal. You will find an engineer to
build another spear-thrower. And you will make sure that we retain
the ability to build others. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Regent. Perfectly clear."

"Good. I am most tired of explaining the obvious time and time
again." After a pause, the Regent gestured. "You may go."

Benyal bowed and turned, her face remaining impassive under the
steel gray hair.
Chapter 93

Alucius shifted his weight in the padded chair. His eyes dropped to
the heavy splint on his right arm. He still hadn't figured out how he'd
broken his right forearm. He remembered throwing up his left,
sabre in hand, and being hammered out of the saddle, Had he
broken the right in falling?

The healer had said that it had been broken by rifle fire against the
nightsilk of his undergarments. He could recall seeing all the rifles
aimed at him. But why? How had the Matrites even known he was
there? Or were they shooting at all commanders? Was that why
there weren't any bright ones left in the Southern Guard? That sort
of tactics would certainly explain many things.

He tried to ignore all the aches. If he lay flat in bed, his ribs didn't
hurt so much, but he had to cough and had trouble breathing easily.
If he sat propped up in the chair or in bed, his chest and ribs hurt
more. No matter what position he assumed, something hurt. In the
end, he decided that he'd deal with the pain of the ribs and use the
chair as much as he could. He forced himself to stand and walk
around the room at least once a glass, but he was careful to keep a
hand on something to steady himself.

As he had improved, Alucius had discovered that he—along with
other wounded officers—had been put in a villa that years before
had belonged to a wealthy factor. He was one of the few with a
room to himself, one of the privileges of rank, he had gathered.

He was reading, or trying to read, a history of Southgate, but he
found sometimes he had to go over the words several times. That
might have been because the book had been written in Dramurian,
which was related, but not too closely, to Madrien. Outside the
window, the sun was shining, the first sunny day he could recall
since he'd been truly awake after his injuries, and the window was
ajar, letting in a cool refreshing breeze that almost took away the
sour smells that drifted into Alucius's room from the other rooms
and halls.

He concentrated on the words before him.

… in the time of Seltyr Alijir, the harbor walls were strengthened
and thickened. The hills around the city, at a distance of fifteen
vingts from the square, were leveled at a height of thirty yards
above the lands surrounding to the west of the coastal high road
and ten yards to the east…

"You're looking better," observed Feran, moving into the small
white-walled room.

"Better than when?"

"I've come by a few times, but you weren't in any shape to
remember."

"That was most of the first two weeks. Another week, and they say
I'll be able to move to some sort of regular senior officers'
quarters."

Feran settled onto the stool across from Alucius. "They just want to
get you out of here."

"Hows Fifth Company doing?"

"I've got them back into a training routine. We're doing the same
thing with Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies. No one's
shifted command of them. I thought it'd be a shame to see
everything they learned lost."

"I see you share my high opinion of certain Southern Guard
practices," Alucius said cheerfully, ignoring the twinges in his ribs.

"You were too charitable, Colonel." Feran snorted.

"What now?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. They either ought to strike a peace of
some sort with the Regent or take Hafin and Salcer. That would cut
their supply lines and make it harder on the Regent."

"It also would put the most productive lands of Madrien in the
hands of Lanachrona." Alucius frowned. "I wouldn't blame the
Lord-Protector, though. The Matrites never would sue for peace or
accept it on anyone else's terms. I doubt that the Lord-Protector
has enough lancers to make another assault. Waris told me that
the casualty rates were something like fifty percent in the Southern
Guard."

"Higher for some companies. Makes us look pretty good," Feran
said.

How could his forces have the lowest rates by far with casualties
running well over thirty percent? "No one can keep fighting for long
with those kinds of casualties."

"They've been doing it for a couple of years, they tell me. Not so
many big battles, but smaller fights with those kinds of casualties."

"That's going to hurt the Matrites more."

"How do you figure that?" asked Feran.

"They've got more women in arms. Dead women don't have
children. Also means they'll have more trouble with men—and
they'll have to keep using those torques."

"It looks like a standoff to me," Feran suggested. "The
Lanachronans have to travel farther and hold longer supply lines,
and they're fighting on less familiar territory, but their lancer ranks
fight better. The Matrites have a more compact land to defend
now, and they're better marshaled and led, but their lancers aren't
as good. Oh… and the Lanachronans are going to lose you when
we head home, and that won't help."

"They're losing you, too."

"Everything I learned… I learned from you."

"That's hardly true, and I'm still making mistakes—like getting
ambushed."

"That was stupid," Feran said amiably.

"Very stupid," Alucius agreed.

"No. Stupid of the Matrites. After the first volley, they were all set
up like clay targets. Don't think one of those snipers escaped.
They all got killed, and that left them surrounded. Twenty-eighth
Company butchered them. And you survived."

"I wasn't sure about that for a time."

"No one was, but I figured that if you could make it through the first
days, you'd come all the way back."

"I appreciate your confidence."

"I did take one liberty." Feran looked down.

"Liberty?" Alucius didn't have the faintest idea of what Feran
meant.

"Figured that your being a herder and all, your Wendra'd probably
sense you were hurt. So we sent off a letter dispatch to her. Told
her you'd been hurt badly, but looked like you'd recover fully. Also
told her you'd been made a temporary colonel. Just hope it gets
there."

Alucius smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that. I can't tell you how
much."

"Knew you were worried. Times you were talking to her, or about
her…" Feran looked sheepish. "You cared that much, all those
letters you wrote… thought she ought to know."

"I can't thank…" Alucius yawned, in spite of himself.

"That's my signal to go." Feran smiled and stood.

"Thank you for coming by."

"We took turns."

"Turns?"

"While you were unconscious, first week, someone was here every
moment."

Alucius swallowed.

"We all know that as many of us made it through as did was
because of you. Every man does."

Alucius was speechless.

"Get some rest, Colonel." Feran grinned, then stepped out of the
room.
Chapter 94
Prosp, Lustrea

Waleryn glanced at the image in the polished surface of the Table,
his own image looking back up at him, that of a Lanachronan lord in
the uniform of a Praetorian Engineer. His lips quirked into a
crooked smile. He straightened and waited.

Around him, the recently cleared chamber was clean of dust and
grit, but the walls and pillars remained bare. Besides the Table, a
workbench set against the wall, a tall stool, and several wooden
crates were the only objects within the reinforced stone walls of the
chamber.

"Engineer? The Praetor will be here shortly."

"I await him with pleasure," replied Waleryn, turning from the Table.

Two of the Praetorian Guards stepped into the Table chamber.
The taller walked around the Table and opened the drawers in the
chest, closing them after his inspection. The shorter lifted the tops
of the crates, one by one, replacing them. Their inspection
complete, they stationed themselves on each side of the door.

Waleryn continued to stand by the Table, waiting.

A quarter glass passed, then another quarter, before the sound of
boots announced the arrival of more Guards and the Praetor. Two
more Guards entered the Table chamber, followed by Tyren,
wearing a black cloak trimmed in silver, over the shimmering silver
tunic and trousers of the Praetor.

"I trust this will be worth a detour, Engineer." Tyren's voice was
curt. "Show us."

"If you would step forward and behold the Table, most honored
Praetor," offered Waleryn, "I can show you what is happening this
very moment at any locale in Corus."

"Perhaps… no, a wise man does not look too deeply into his
personal life." Tyren laughed. "Such temptation, but one best
resisted. Show me something of the so-called Council of Five in
Dereka. If you can."

"That can be." Waleryn looked into the table, and the silver
reflection of the two men vanished, to be replaced by swirling ruby
mists. Immediately, the mists vanished, replaced with a view of an
audience hall. On the dais at one end of the hall was a table in the
shape of a semicircle, and on the arced side sat five men in high-
backed gilt chairs, facing two lancer officers in ornate gold and
crimson uniforms.

The view showed the backs of the officers and the faces of the
Council. All five faces radiated displeasure.

"They are not happy." Tyren sounded pleased. "And they should
not be, not with our legions marshaled in Passera to begin the
campaign once the worst of the snows on the Spine of Corus
melt."

Dampness formed on Waleryn's forehead as an unseen set of
purpled arms rose out of the Table and slowly embraced Tyren.

"What…" Tyren fell silent.

"They… the Council… is threatening some sort of punishment.
That is clear," offered Waleryn. "It may be that they do not believe
the reports of your legions." He glanced at the immobile form of
the young blond Praetor, whose hands and arms were knotted,
gripping the edge of the Table. "Then… they may be looking for
someone to blame for their own foolishness." More sweat beaded
on Waleryn's forehead.

The figure of the Praetor remained unspeaking… although his face
contorted, moving rapidly from expression to expression, and his
eyes appeared close to bulging from his forehead.

"They… they are letting them depart… Yes… as you request,
Praetor," Waleryn spoke. "An image of the Lord-Protector… In a
moment, for it takes time to displace one image and seek another."

Suddenly, the Praetor's face smoothed, and a wide smile
appeared. "Yes… we should see that image, Engineer. You should
follow the Lord-Protector closely. After Dereka, Tempre will be our
next conquest." The hearty laugh that followed carried a chill
undertone. "And… you shall come with me, so far as Vysta, where
you will proceed to Norda. You will have all the supplies you require
to rebuild yet another Table."

"Yes, Praetor." Waleryn bowed his head, concealing the smile of
triumph.
Chapter 95

Alucius sat in the armchair in front of the window, overlooking a
rain-slicked stone courtyard. Outside, the sky was leaden gray,
much the way he felt. His eyes dropped to the history in his lap.

"Colonel…"

Alucius looked up to see Alyniat standing in the doorway. "Marshal.
I hadn't expected you."

"After my last comments, under the circumstances, I imagine not."
A crooked smile crossed Alyniat's lips.

"Or after mine," Alucius admitted.

"Yours were deserved. Mine were not. I have to admit that I was
wrong, Colonel," Alyniat said, a trace of a smile still hovering at the
corners of his lips. "That's a hard thing for marshals."

"Sir?"

"The stories of your exploits have crossed the entire Southern
Guard. You walked through the crystal spears… you single-
handedly killed five companies of Matrites… it took an entire squad
of Matrites firing at you from point-blank range to bring you
down…"

That part, Alucius reflected, was the only one that actually
contained a grain of truth.

"… you saved two companies by charging an entire Matrite force
alone…" Alyniat shrugged. "I also came to apologize."

"Sir… you did the best anyone could in those circumstances…"

"Except for you, Colonel."

Alucius laughed. "I wasn't that bright. I almost got killed riding into a
trap that I should have seen."

"By doing it, you rallied five companies into routing almost ten and
putting Southgate back under the Lord-Protector's control.
Everything changed after you destroyed the second crystal spear-
thrower. I got a rather graphic report from Captain Vyarinst. He
interviewed two whole squads of lancers because he couldn't
believe what he had been hearing."

Alucius tried not to wince.

"They all said the same thing," Alyniat continued, inexorably. "The
crystal spear-thrower exploded, and you rose out of the ground
and mounted your horse. You caught up with the company that had
charged past you and rallied another company to follow you.
Single-handedly, you cut down an entire Matrite squad, taking
blows that would have felled a lesser man—"

"Matrite squads are only eight men, sir."

"I'm not at all sure that changes much, Colonel," Alyniat replied,
smiling broadly. "Then, you charged a squad clearly sent to
assassinate you, and you killed two of them with a sabre you flung
just before you were struck with something like twenty bullets. That
was how many they found flattened against your nightsilk."

"I just did what had to be done."

"Do you want to tell me how you destroyed that construct of evil?"

"Let's just say that I put myself where I could fling charges under it.
That was the trench."

Alyniat laughed, then shook his head. "It's a good thing you actually
had requested blasting powder."

"We did, you know."

"Colonel… your account makes perfect sense. I doubt strongly
that what really happened would make sense, or would make
anyone very happy. Marshal Frynkel, the Lord-Protector, and I are
just grateful that you and your lancers managed to accomplish the
impossible… again. Once you are well enough to ride, you may
return to Tempre, at your convenience, where the Lord-Protector
wishes to see you, then return to your Iron Valleys."

"What about Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies?"

"Your question does you credit, but it is, again, a measure of your
abilities." Alyniat's smile turned crooked. "I cannot send them to
the Iron Valleys. They will return with you so far as Tempre. Both
companies have been recommended for commendation as
distinguished units, and they will receive a month's furlough in
recognition of that, and a half month's pay as an additional bonus.
More than that, we cannot do."

Alucius understood. "Thank you. They fought well, and they've
learned much."

"So have their officers." Alyniat paused. "Captain Deotyr observed
that were you in command of the Northern Guard, Lanachrona
would never have to worry about its northern borders."

"I fear he rates me too highly," Alucius demurred. "He is young.
There are many capable officers in the Northern and Southern
Guard."

"Capable, yes. Outstanding, no."

Alucius didn't want to deal with that.

"Just as a matter of simple justice," Alyniat added, "your back pay
was adjusted to that of a colonel from the date Marshal Frynkel
sealed your orders to Southgate. Under the circumstances, that
seemed only fair."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Colonel. Without you and your men, we would be
fleeing to Tempre this very moment. I am most happy to be able to
reward those who have broken the threat of the Regent."

Alucius decided against mentioning the repowering of the torques.

"I will see you before long, and before you return to Tempre."

"Yes, sir."

With a friendly smile, the marshal departed.

Alucius had sensed that most of what Alyniat had said was what the
man felt, except that the marshal would also be relieved when
Alucius left. Would it always be that way? That people wanted him
to accomplish the impossible, then were glad to see him go?

Alucius looked to the window. Would he really be able to return to
the Iron Valleys? Without some other hidden "request" or
obligation? Would the Lord-Protector honor his promise to
promote Alucius to commander of the Northern Guard? Did
Alucius really want that?

He looked down at the history of Southgate that lay in his lap, then
back at the dreary winter sky outside the window. He had no
answers, none that were clear to him.
Chapter 96
Salaan, Lanachrona

The two men walked toward the building set in the low hills to the
southwest of Salaan, a building of recent construction that half
burrowed into a hill that was but one segment of a long ridge that
extended vingts both to the northeast and southwest.

"For all your efforts, the majer survived, except he is a colonel
now," observed Trezun.

"He barely survived, you said, and it will be weeks, if not a season
or more, before he can leave Southgate," replied the white-haired
and pale-faced Tarolt.

"With his Talent, it will be weeks, not seasons, and he will be
stronger for all that he has been through. That is one of the
dangers of failing to eliminate him."

"What is your concern? The injuries prove that he is but mortal. He
has yet to face a fully translated Efran." Tarolt laughed. "The
devastation and casualties he has created could not have been
better. Hyalt is a shadow of its former self. The Regent is bleeding
Madrien to a husk, and the Lord-Protector is doing little better with
his own land. People are getting poorer and more dissatisfied, and
none dare voice their anger. Neither ruler understands what is
happening. That is as we had planned."

"Majer… Colonel Alucius… he should have died more than five
times. The last two, there were not even any ancient ones around."

"My dear Recorder, the colonel is doing us far more good alive
than were he dead. He raises hopes, and thousands have died.
What will they do once he has departed? They will be bereft of that
hope."

"I question that." Trezun stepped into the front hall of the Table
building. "Hyalt is rebuilding, and unless you are willing to send
Sensat back there and find another Talent-steer to shadow-match,
we will see no gain there."

"Oh… but we have. Already, all of Lanachrona and much of
Madrien wearies of war and of endless casualties. At the very
least, who in Hyalt is left to oppose the new duarchy? All they wish
is to tend their gardens in peace, and that we can give them."
Tarolt followed Trezun into the room with the conference table.
"And what of Waleryn? Has he located the scepters?" Irony tinged
Tarolt's words.

"He has moved most expeditiously. After he arrived in Prosp and
cleared the fallen building from the Table, he reactivated the Table
and added its power to the grid." Trezun smiled. "He just sent a
message. We have shadow-matched the Praetor, and he is
supplying Waleryn and dispatching him to Norda to rebuild the
Table there."

"That will take time. It is a three-week ride from Prosp to Norda in
good weather."

"You had said that we needed more Tables."

"Lasylt has been pressing," admitted Tarolt. "And the duarchists of
Dulka?"

"That proceeds as well. Without another Table powering the grid,
we will have to send someone there by the high roads."

"Once the Table in Norda is operating…"

"We may need one more, yet."

"That will come… all is going well, and the colonel is not going
anywhere in the next few weeks. Even were he recovered this
moment, he would face a journey of weeks to return to the Iron
Valleys."

"Then what? What if Weslyn is right to fear that the majer will be
placed in Northern Guard headquarters?"

"Majer… Colonel Alucius does not wish to be a Northern Guard.
What motivated him to accept the Lord-Protector's request was
fear that he would lose his stead to the Regent, not ambition to
become a majer or a colonel. No matter what happens, we do not
lose. If Alucius goes back to herding, the situation in the south will
continue to worsen, and the conflict between the Lord-Protector
and the Regent will seesaw back and forth with greater casualties
and more unrest, and Alucius can and will do nothing. If he
becomes the deputy to Weslyn, that will tear the Guard apart and
create even more unrest in Dekhron. That will lead to less effective
lancers in the north of Madrien. If he replaces Weslyn, Halanat will
turn the traders against him, and that will create great discontent
and a revolt of sorts here." Tarolt shrugged. "It matters not. The
unrest will grow, and so will the support for the peace and
prosperity of a new duarchy."

"Led by our shadowed Praetor?"

"That would be best, but the Regent would serve if something
goes ill with Tyren. It is best to keep multiple options available. We
will use whatever tools are at hand. If the majer ends up in the right
place, we could even translate him and create a duarchy here."

"I think that is unlikely."

"Unlikely? Yes . . . but stranger things have occurred." Tarolt
smiled. "They have indeed."
Chapter 97

Another week passed, and Alucius had moved to a second villa,
down the road from the one where he had first started to recover.
The villa itself was on the outskirts of Southgate, perched on a low
hill. From the writing desk in front of the narrow window in his room
at the rear of the second floor, Alucius could look out at a large,
walled courtyard, with a fountain that no longer held water, and
vines and trees in planters adjacent to the walls. The lemon and
lime trees seemed to be healthy, and there was fruit on their
branches. The grapevines were bare and without grapes, but it was
early winter, even if it did not seem to freeze in Southgate. From
what Alucius could tell, the walls of both the villa and the courtyard
were stone covered in stucco and painted a bluish white that had
faded to grayish white in places. Gray dust had gathered in the
northern corners of the courtyard.

On another cloudy Tridi afternoon, he was seated before the small
writing desk in the modest quarters, taking a short break and
looking down at the courtyard, then out at the heavy gray clouds
that were too high to deliver rain. After a time, he took a deep
breath and dropped his eyes to the papers on the wood before
him. He'd been writing out his own report to Marshal Frynkel and
the Lord-Protector. No doubt the marshal already had reports, but
there was some information that the Lord-Protector needed, and
that Alucius doubted would be passed along—not from what he
had seen. Still, necessary as reports might be, writing them was
not something he enjoyed, especially at the moment. With his right
arm still in the splint, while he was left-handed, writing was still
slower with only one hand. His eyes began to look back over the
key phrases and paragraphs of draft conclusions that followed his
chronological report of what had happened to his force since they
had left Hyalt.

… Matrites try to avoid attacking fixed positions, and do so only
when they have weapons or other clear advantages. This tendency
has apparently been overlooked by many Southern Guard
officers…

"Letters? Or reports?" came a voice from the door.

Alucius turned. Feran stood there, wearing a lancer riding jacket
over his uniform.

"Reports. I sent off a letter to Wendra yesterday."

"At least you've got your priorities in order. You think you're up to
riding?"

"For a while, anyway, and it would be good to get out of here."

"I thought it might, and it's easier if I just show up with a mount."

Alucius stacked the sheets of the incomplete report and weighted
them down with a book of Southgate history he had been puzzling
through. Then he stood and moved to the pegs set into the white-
plastered walls of the room where his few clothes hung and took
down the nightsilk riding jacket, carefully closing it over the sling so
that his right sleeve hung down empty. "Be glad when I can take off
the splint."

"Has the healer said when?"

"Not before next week. I'll have to be careful and wear a brace."

Feran laughed. "You look pretty good for a man who ought to be
dead."

"The ribs are still sore." Alucius walked toward the door. He
followed Feran down the wide tile steps of the grand staircase that
rose from the entry hall and out into the front courtyard. The
afternoon was cool and moist, not raining or misting, but there were
few scents in the air, just dampness and moldy vegetation.

The mount Feran had brought for Alucius was a chestnut. Alucius
glanced at the overcaptain.

"Your gray," Feran said slowly, "he took as many bullets as you did.
More probably, and mounts don't wear nightsilk."

For a moment, Alucius just stood there. Then, he mounted, easily,
even one-handed—another skill he could attribute to his grandsire.
As he settled into the saddle, he couldn't help but consider that the
gray had been the third mount he'd lost in combat, one way or
another. He reached down and patted the big chestnut. "Where
to?"

"I thought you might like to see some of Southgate, since you
almost died defending it."

"Lead on. You have to know more about it than I do."

The gates to the villa were of weathered timbers, but not
ironbound, and had been left open. Neither of the two Southern
Guard lancers on guard duty even looked in Alucius's direction as
the two officers rode out. Feran turned right, heading southward
along a road paved with square reddish stone.

Alucius followed, glancing ahead. So far as he could see, every
dwelling was like the villa he had left, in that each was surrounded
by a white stucco-finished wall so that the street was, in effect,
walled, with a raised space for walking on each side. But the
sidewalks were only a yard in width and the street but five. With the
walls for the houses almost three yards high, even in the saddle
Alucius felt closed in. Cross streets were just as narrow, and
seemed to be set about a hundred yards apart.

"Are all the streets like this?"

"Most of them, except in the center of Southgate, or out beyond
the city walls."

"How far are we from the high road?"

"About two vingts. Both high roads end at the city walls. The
closest is the southwest high road. That's about two vingts to the
east of here, Your villa's less than a quarter vingt from the north
wall."

"The high roads don't come into Southgate?"

"Not that I know. Never thought about that, though. Wonder why
they don't," mused Feran.

Alucius wondered as well. "The walls are about ten vingts inside
the ring road, and the roads end at the walls."

Feran nodded.

As they rode southward past dwellings that were far smaller than
those around the villa, Alucius became aware of what he had
sensed before—except the feeling was far more pronounced.
Beneath everything was the pervading sense of deadness, the lack
of life in the deeper soil.

Under the gray clouds, the street was vacant. Alucius could sense
people in the dwellings, but he saw only two people on the
sidewalk—two white-haired women in shapeless gray coats and
trousers—and no other riders. "Not many people out."

"There never are. A few more in the early morning, and a bunch out
on Septi—that's market day. Looks almost normal then."

The street crossed a stone bridge that arched only slightly over a
stone-lined and paved streambed. A trickle of muddy water
meandered across the ten-yard-wide stone base of the oversized
ditch. On the far side of the bridge, the houses were yet smaller,
and their walls replaced the courtyard walls. No windows opened
onto the street, only narrow wooden gates.

They rode for at least another two vingts, past more of the small
dwellings, interspersed upon occasion with rows of small shops.
There, Alucius did see people, but they all avoided looking at the
two officers.

"Center of Southgate's ahead, across the inner ring," Feran
announced.

Inner ring? Alucius decided against asking, at least until he saw it.

The street down which they had ridden came to a cross street,
clearly the inner ring of which Feran had spoken, because Alucius
could see that it arced in both directions. The pavement was
smooth gray granite, and it was, unlike the other streets, a good
thirty yards in width. Alucius looked both east and west, but he saw
no riders on the inner ring.

On the far side of the ring was what appeared to be a walled
palace, with four graceful stone towers, each set at the corner of
walls that formed a trapezoid. Alucius judged that the "base" of the
wall facing him was roughly a half vingt long. He looked to the right,
then to the left. From what he could tell, there were a number of
such "palaces" set in a circle inside the inner ring. Alucius lost
count at eleven. "How many are there?"

"Thirteen, I'm told. They form a circle around the central square,
except it's round."

Feran and Alucius crossed the inner ring.

As they rode past the four-yard-high stone walls, Alucius could
sense no life within them. "Doesn't anyone live there now?"

"No. They gutted them and stuffed everything on ships and went to
Dramuria once it was clear that the Lord-Protector would take the
city. Didn't leave a gold or a statue or much of anything. That's what
Sholosyn said."

"Just abandoned the people?"

Feran nodded.

Alucius studied the walls, definitely ancient, but not eternastone.
He also realized that the grounds enclosed by each palace were
enormous, because they rode almost a vingt before coming to the
next turn in the wall. That meant that each trapezoid was roughly a
half vingt across the larger base, a vingt in depth, and something
like two-fifths of a vingt across the shorter base.

"They all face onto the square. See?"

The center square of Southgate was… different. That was the only
word that came to Alucius's mind. To begin with, in the center was
a circle of absolutely white stone, a circle that was a third of a yard
above the surrounding gray stone paving and was roughly one
hundred yards in diameter. Except for its dead-white color, to
Alucius's Talent and eyes, the stone looked and felt like the harder
gray granite. There were no decorations on the circle—just the
circle itself. Ten yards out from the white circle there were four
stellae of exactly the same dimensions, each also of the white
granite, and each placed at a cardinal point of the compass.

Alucius turned the chestnut. Feran was right. In the middle of the
wall of each palace that faced the "square" was an arched gate.
Most were now open or ajar. After slowly looking in both directions,
overwhelmed in a way by the empty grandeur of the abandoned
palaces, Alucius turned his mount back toward the inner area,
conscious of the fact that they were the only ones in sight.

Slowly, he reached out gingerly with his Talent to examine the
whitestone circle. He shuddered. The stone, only the whitestone,
was dead, dead in the same sense that the layer in the ground
beneath Southgate was dead. He rode toward the nearest stele,
noting that something had been carved upon it.

"Southgate's been here for a long time, from what those buildings
look like," observed Feran, keeping pace with Alucius.

"A long time." Alucius rode closer to the stele, catching sight of a
series of scenes sculpted into the stone. He reined up less than a
yard from the stele and began to study the scenes. The bottom
row showed men toiling—building a wall, building a ship, plowing a
field, presumably set outside the city walls. The three images
above that showed men riding, hunting, and fighting another force.
There was a single wider image above those—it showed thirteen
men seated at a table, each holding a scepter. Alucius looked
more closely. Standing directly in the center, in back of the seated
men, was a sculpted figure that resembled the ifrit in his infrequent
dreams—the same features, although the stone did not convey the
stark whiteness of the skin, the purple eyes, or the jet-black hair.
That figure stood behind the center seltyr, the only one who sat on
something resembling a throne. The ifrit figure was not threatening,
not carrying a weapon, just there.

Alucius frowned.

"What is it?" asked Feran.

"Just thinking. This is an old city, perhaps as old as Tempre or
Dereka, or as old as Iron Stem or Dekhron."

"Most cities in Corus are old." Feran laughed. "Who ever heard of
a new city? "

"This city has no eternastone and no green towers within the walls."

"So?"

"Name me another city that doesn't. Even Iron Stem has a green
tower. Dekhron has eternastone roads and the bridge. Tempre and
Dereka have buildings and towers. So does Krost. The others at
least have eternastone roads running through them."

Feran didn't reply for several moments.

"And there's no one in this central area," Alucius added. "Not a
beggar, not a thief. No one."

"It means something, but what? That everyone hated the seltyrs so
much that they don't ever want to be here? The palaces had to be
for the seltyrs. Could be that they took everything, and there's
nothing left to loot."

"It could be," Alucius agreed. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy
at times. He looked at Feran. "We ought to head back."

"Are you all right? You're a little pale. Maybe we shouldn't have
ridden this far."

"It's only a few vingts. I'll be fine." Alucius turned the chestnut.

As he rode back, he was conscious that he was weaker than he'd
thought, and that he'd probably ridden farther than he should have.
But he wasn't going to get any stronger doing nothing. And he
hated being weak.

He was also conscious that Southgate was more—and less—than
it seemed, and that he was too tired to figure out what he was
missing. He'd have to sleep on it.

"You're tired."

"A little," Alucius admitted.

"It's not that far."

Alucius managed a smile. He would ride back, and he wouldn't fall
out of the saddle. No matter what.
Chapter 98

On Quattri, sometime in the dimness before dawn, Alucius woke
abruptly, pain slashing from his wristguard through his arm. So
sudden was the feeling that he was disoriented. After several
moments, he struggled awake and into a sitting position, but the
pain had vanished. He touched his forearm gently, but there was
no soreness, and he'd been far less bruised there than across his
chest.

He puzzled over the sudden pain, wondering, when another
contracting pain radiating from the herder's wristguard, followed by
a flash of lifeforce from the black crystal.

Wendra… what was happening to her?

He swallowed. It had to be. She was in labor. She was having their
daughter… and he was a thousand vingts away. He should have
been there. And he might have been… if only, if only he hadn't
thought that he had no choices. Or if only he hadn't been struck
down.

Another of the hazards of leading from the front? Or of feeling
indispensable?

Another wave of pain washed over his forearm, slightly removed,
perhaps because he now understood what it was. Yet, even
removed… it was far from pleasant, especially when his own
tender muscles tightened involuntarily.

If he were with Wendra, then he knew he would have been able to
help if anything went wrong. That would have been something
beneficial and lifegiving from his Talent. But… from afar, there was
nothing he could do, nothing but wait, and watch and sense the
crystal… and hope that she and Alendra would both be all right.

He eased his way from his bed to the window, pulling back the
shutters and looking out into the darkness. He saw nothing, but he
did not need to see.

All he could do now was wait and hope.
Chapter 99

By Octdi morning, as he sat at the writing desk, trying to write a
letter to Wendra, Alucius was certain that she was well and that, by
extension, so was Alendra. He just had to hope that everything else
was going well for her, Alendra, and the stead.

"Sir?" A Southern Guard squad leader had knocked on the door
and stood there.

Alucius set the pen in the holder, turned, then rose. "Yes?"

"Begging your pardon, Colonel sir, Marshal Alyniat was wondering
if you would be willing to ride out to meet with him at his
headquarters."

Alucius used his Talent to study the man, but could detect neither
malice nor deception—just apprehension. "I'd be happy to see the
marshal. My mount is in the stable here, but I'll need a little help
saddling him." He looked down at his still-splinted arm.

"Yes, sir. We can help."

Alucius could see that there was indeed help when he made his
way down the stairs and out to the stable and discovered that he
had an escort of half a squad. Two of them had already groomed
and saddled the chestnut.

"Thought you wouldn't mind, sir," said the Southern Guard lancer
who had led out Alucius's mount.

"Not these days. Thank you." Alucius still could mount easily, and
did so.

They rode out the villa gates two abreast, Alucius to the right of the
squad leader.

"Have you seen any more of the Matrites in the last week?" Alucius
asked, after a time, as they turned off the street and through the
gates in the city wall, and onto the high road to Fola—and the
Southern Guard encampment—if it still happened to be there.

"No, sir. Not around here. They say they've pulled back to Hafin
and Salcer. 'Course, that's just until they build up their forces.
They'll be back. Always have been, anyways."

Alucius was afraid the squad leader was all too right in his
assessment. "It seems that way."

Still worried about Wendra and Alendra, he said little on the nearly
ten-kay ride out to the road fort. Most of the companies that had
been camped around the main road fort were no longer there.
Some, like Alucius's three companies, had been quartered in
Southgate. Others, he suspected, had been moved northward or to
Zalt and other posts closer to the Matrite forces. He could see only
what looked to be two companies in bivouac on the slope below
the stone fort.

Alucius reined up outside the arched entrance inside the fort.

"We'll just wait for you, sir."

"Thank you." Alucius dismounted and made his way past the
sentries.

"… hard to believe… say he's killed something like three thousand
men personally…"

Alucius tried not to wince. The number was either far too high or far
too low, depending on what one meant by "personally."

He had to take the stairs more slowly than usual, and he could feel
the eyes on him as he walked along the west side of the
marshaling hall. With his Talent, he could even catch a few
phrases.

"… three/four weeks, walking…"

"… Foysyr said he's seen dead men looked better… blood
everywhere…"

"… good thing he's ours…"

"… good thing for the marshal… otherwise, he'd have ended up
blood soup like Wyerl…"

Alucius stopped outside Alyniat's doorway.

"Just a moment, sir." The lancer turned. "Colonel Alucius is here,
sir."

"Have him come in."

The marshal stood as Alucius walked in. "Colonel. Please take a
seat." The circles remained under Alyniat's eyes, but they were not
quite so black, and his silver blond hair was longer and disheveled.
He brushed it back off his forehead as he reseated himself behind
the stack of maps.

"Colonel… you look well."

"Thank you." Alucius wasn't about to mention that he was still sore
in too many spots, especially around his ribs.

"How long before you can ride?"

"I'm riding now," Alucius pointed out. "The healer thinks I can trade
the heavy splint for a brace early next week, and I could certainly
ride then. It will be a while longer before I can lift a blade or handle
a rifle."

"But you could ride back to Tempre next week?"

"If I don't have to fight." Alucius smiled politely. "Are you saying
that I actually might be able to return to the Iron Valleys?"

Alyniat stood momentarily and extended a sealed envelope. "This
arrived late last night."

Alucius took the envelope, broke the double seal, and began to
read.



Colonel Alucius—

The Lord-Protector was most gratified to hear of your successes
in destroying the Matrite spear-throwers and distressed to have
learned of the extent of your injuries. Later reports of your
progress have cheered him greatly, and he would like to extend an
invitation for you and your three companies to return to Tempre at
your earliest convenience, but not earlier than prudent in your
recovery. He extends his personal best wishes, and hopes for your
early and complete recovery, as does the Lady Alerya.

You will, of course, be honored once more, and the Lord-Protector
would hope that you would accept an invitation to supper in his
private apartments once you have returned to Tempre…

The missive was signed by Frynkel and bore both his seal and that
of the Lord-Protector.

Alucius understood clearly the last paragraph—both the honor and
the likely conditions that might come with it. He looked to the
marshal.

"I also received a letter, saying that you would receive a request to
return to Tempre with all three companies, and that you would be
honored upon that return. Is that… ?"

"Yes, sir. Whenever I feel that I can ride." Alucius smiled faintly.
"I'd say next week, once the heavy splint is off." It wasn't really the
splint, but he hoped that his ribs would be better by then. Only two
of them ached any longer—most of the time. At times, all four did.

"That would be good." Alyniat paused. "I will offer my own thanks
once more, Colonel. In addition to the destruction of the crystal
spear-throwers, you and your companies accounted for the deaths
of more than ten Matrite companies. Your actions have changed
the entire balance of power here in the southwest. For that, both
personally and professionally, I am most grateful."

"Thank you, sir. I am sorry that there was no way to capture either
weapon. The way that they were built meant that they could not be
disabled—only destroyed." Alucius cleared his throat. "That's not
quite accurate. They could be captured, but only when they were
not in use, and we could never get close enough with sufficient
force when they were not in use."

"Do you think they could build another?"

"I would judge it is possible. It will take at least a year, and possibly
longer, based on what I know."

"A year…" mused Alyniat. "Two at most."

"You could prepare…"

"How?" Alyniat's eyes fixed on Alucius.

"The spear-thrower is not terribly effective against stone. Rebuild
the gates to your key forts so that the spear-thrower cannot be
used against anything wooden. Perhaps a stone wall ten yards in
front of the gates and wide enough that the spear-thrower could not
be used at an angle. It cannot be used without a great deal of
sand. That suggests that it will be most effective in the north in
warmer weather. Also, the Matrites are not nearly so effective in
small groups. I would send raider groups into their territories and
pick off as many patrols as possible. The greater the losses now,
the longer before they can build up the forces necessary to protect
a spear-thrower for its use." Alucius almost shrugged, but
managed to stop the gesture—knowing that it would have been
painful.

"What else?"

"If… if they do rebuild one, it cannot travel quickly except by the
high roads because it is so heavy. If you control the high roads
south, you can restrict its use." All of what Alucius said seemed
simple and direct enough to him.

The marshal nodded. "All very simple, but effective. Like you."

"I'm too young and inexperienced as a commander to attempt
anything terribly complicated."

Alyniat laughed. "Don't, even when you're more experienced.
Complicated plans just have more ways to go wrong."

Alucius had already thought that, and had decided against saying
so.

"I won't keep you longer, Colonel." Alyniat paused. "By the way, do
you know that you're the youngest majer-colonel in the history of
the Southern Guard?"

"No… I didn't." Alucius wasn't surprised. He was too young to be a
colonel, but Marshal Frynkel and the Lord-Protector had needed
him—and needed him to be independent, and so had Alyniat. "But
you had a great deal to do with that."

"I did." A wry smile crossed the face of the blond marshal.
"Promoting you was far easier than arguing and took less time. I
figured that I couldn't lose."

"I'd be either dead or successful. Dead, the rank wouldn't have
mattered, and if we were successful, who would challenge your
decision? And, either way, since I'm a Northern Guard officer, you
wouldn't have to deal with any problems that followed."

"That's one of the things I like about you, Colonel." Alyniat
chuckled. "You're an idealist, but a very realistic one." He stepped
toward the door. "You can choose when you leave, but I would
appreciate your letting me know."

Alucius rose from the chair. "You can be assured that I will,
Marshal."

Even though his ribs were beginning to ache more, he forced
himself to leave the fort at a measured pace without betraying the
growing pain. He still needed more rest than usual—a great deal
more. As he mounted the chestnut, he just hoped that he'd
improve more by the middle of the next week.
Chapter 100

The following Quinti, two mornings after the healer had replaced
the splint with a removable brace, Alucius and Feran and what
remained of the three companies rode out of Southgate headed
for Tempre. No one saw them off, and there were no fanfares or
much of anything else, for which Alucius was grateful. The
wristguard showed that Wendra was healthy. Although he knew
there was no way he could have gotten any messages, he still
wished he could have gotten some word.

Five days later, they reached Zalt, but Colonel Jesopyr had been
sent north to take charge of rebuilding and refortifying the post at
Dimor.

While Captain Kuttyr was most pleasant and helpful, Alucius had to
admit that he missed Jesopyr.

A week later—ten long days—they were less than five vingts out of
Tempre, and Alucius was riding at the front of the column with
Jultyr and Thirty-fifth Company. The day before, Alucius had sent
Fewal and Rakalt ahead with a message to Southern Guard
headquarters announcing their impending arrival. The last thing he
wanted was to show up with three companies that no one had
counted upon—although he doubted barracks space would be a
problem, not with the majority of companies still in the southwest.
Alucius wasn't sure whether to call the area the southwest,
southwest Lanachrona, south Madrien, or old Madrien, and he'd
seen all four terms used in dispatches. So he'd opted to use the
semineutral "southwest" in his reports to Marshal Frynkel.

Alucius was tired, and his ribs and arm had begun to throb, as had
happened later in the day on most of the journey northeast toward
the capital city of Lanachrona.

"What do you think will happen in Tempre, sir?" asked Jultyr.

"Not all that much. The Lord-Protector will commend everyone,
thank me personally, give you furlough, and send us back to the
Iron Valleys. They'll send you replacements, give you some
training, and in a season, you'll be back in the southwest. Two
seasons, if you're fortunate."

"As Overcaptain Feran says, sir, you're most optimistic."

"Rulers have needs. They seldom care what ours are. If they're
good, they'll try to do something to meet ours, but whatever they
do won't compromise what they need."

"Suppose not, sir."

"They won't stay rulers if they don't look out for the country first."
Alucius did not say more because he saw riders ahead.

Those riders were four Southern Guards, waiting on the east side
of the high road. The four caught sight of the banners and
straightened in the saddle before riding toward Alucius and Jultyr.

"Colonel Alucius?"

"Yes."

"Marshal Frynkel sent us out to meet you. Your quarters and
barracks are arranged, and Captain Wasenyr will be briefing you on
the ceremony."

"Ceremony?" asked Alucius.

"Yes, sir. All three companies will receive the Lord-Protector's unit
commendation."

Alucius could sense Jultyr's concealed amusement.

"They don't give many of those, sir. That's because it comes with
two weeks' pay for every lancer as a bonus."

"That's good to know," Alucius replied. "Lead on."

As the four lancers swung in front of the banners at the front of the
column, Alucius turned to Jultyr and shrugged.

"We were cheap at the price," Jultyr said dryly. "Still, the men will
appreciate it. They'll make sure to pay it before we get any
replacements."

Alucius couldn't help smiling at the veteran's assessment.

The sun was low in the west, shining through a hazy sky and
offering only slight warmth by the time the four lancers escorting
Alucius and the three companies turned off the high road and then
onto the Avenue of the Palace.

Looking down the Avenue and through the space between the two
green towers that dated back to the Duarchy, Alucius could see
across the River Vedra to the southernmost part of the Westerhills.
Unlike the northern Westerhills, where the trees were junipers and
pines spread widely on rocky and sandy ground, the trees north of
Tempre were mixed pine and softwoods growing far more closely
together.

As they neared the palace itself, with the stone-walled gardens of
the Lord-Protector on their right, the lancers turned right on the
avenue fronting both the palace and the headquarters complex of
the Southern Guard. Behind both structures to the north was a long
ridge that extended to the river in the west and well into the
distance to the east. There were no structures on the top third of
the ridge.

Alucius, getting more sore by the moment, shifted his weight in the
saddle as they neared the gray granite walls of the Southern Guard
headquarters, modest in size against the low hills directly behind
the gray buildings. As before, when he had been in Tempre, there
were but four guards flanking the gateposts. The guards looked up
briefly, possibly surprised to see such a long column of riders.
Behind them, the main headquarters building rose four stories, with
clean gray walls looming over the paving stones that covered the
space inside the walls. The exception was the small walled garden
set forward of the squared-off portico that was the main entrance.

The four lancers rode around the east side of the building and into
the rear courtyard, a space cut out of the hillside, with the stables
to the right, and barracks and quarters behind, but forward of a
stone wall that rose almost fifteen, yards. They continued turning,
toward the portico that marked the rear entrance. Standing on the
steps above the mounting blocks were several figures in Southern
Guard uniforms. As they rode closer, Alucius recognized Marshal
Frynkel, but not the captain with him, nor the lancers behind the two
officers.

The lancers reined up, and Alucius ordered, "Column, halt!"

Frynkel stepped forward. "Colonel Alucius, Overcaptain Feran,
Captain Jultyr, Captain Deotyr, and all the lancers of the Fifth,
Twenty-eighth, and Thirty-fifth Companies… welcome to Tempre
and Southern Guard headquarters. Your efforts can truly be said to
have been critical in saving Lanachrona, and for that you will be
recognized and rewarded at an official ceremony on Duadi. Later,
Captain Wasenyr will go over the details with you." Frynkel inclined
his head to the dark-bearded young captain standing back and to
his left. "On behalf of the Lord-Protector, I wanted to welcome you
all to Tempre." A nod from the marshal clearly ended the welcome.

Alucius inclined his head. "We thank you, Marshal, and the Lord-
Protector. We are pleased that we have been of service."

Frynkel stepped forward. "Colonel, I would appreciate the honor of
your company and that of Overcaptain Feran at supper this
evening."

"We would be pleased."

"Good. Captain Wasenyr will fill you in." Frynkel's smile was
pleasant, but Alucius could sense the tiredness behind the
expression. "I'll let you get your men and yourselves settled."

"Thank you, sir."

The lancer escorts urged their mounts into a slow walk.

"Forward," Alucius ordered.

Once the three companies were drawn up outside the stables,
Wasenyr and three squad leaders met them.

"Colonel," offered the bearded captain, "the squad leaders will
show your companies what sections of the stables are assigned,
and the barracks areas. Once you've taken care of what you need
to here, I'd be pleased to escort you and your officers to your
quarters." A lopsided smile followed. "You may have noticed that
we're somewhat understaffed here from the way things were in the
past."

"With so many companies in the southwest, I thought that might be
the case." Alucius dismounted, somewhat stiffly.

"Do you need—"

"I'm just stiff from riding." Alucius was stiff from riding, but his ribs
were also bothering him, and the brace on his forearm, under his
sleeve and riding jacket, was chafing his skin.

"I should tell you that the ceremony will be one glass after morning
muster on Duadi—at the rear portico. It won't take that long, and
regular travel uniforms are appropriate, but your men won't need to
saddle up. Just form on foot. If you'd be there a quarter glass
before they form up, I'll let you know if there are any changes."

"That's fine. Is there anything else?"

"Not right now, sir."

Alucius nodded and led the chestnut into the stables. When he had
finished with stabling and grooming the chestnut, more slowly than
usual, he was the last to join Feran and Captain Wasenyr outside
the stable.

"I took a moment to show the captains their quarters. I hope you—"

"That's fine," Alucius said.

The walk back to the main building was even longer than Alucius
recalled, especially carrying his own gear. Once inside the main
building, Wasenyr led the way up a wide stone staircase. "Both of
your quarters are on the third level. Yours are on the east end,
Overcaptain Feran, and yours are on the west end, Colonel. We'll
get the colonel settled first, if you don't mind, sir," Wasenyr said to
Feran.

"That would be best." Feran grinned at Alucius.

Alucius wondered if he'd get the same quarters he'd had before.

At the third level, they turned left, past a pair of Southern Guards
with blue braid on their shoulders, similar to that worn by Wasenyr.
Wasenyr stopped at the next-to-last set of double doors. He
opened the door with a shining brass key and handed it to Alucius.

The foyer inside was tiled in blue and gold. Through a square
archway was a sitting room ten yards in width and fifteen in length,
the long side containing three wide windows that opened on a view
of the Lord-Protector's golden cream palace. In the sitting room
were a dark blue upholstered settee, two matching armchairs, a
carved cherry desk set against the north wall, with an equally
imposing and matching carved desk chair. Five wall lamps were
spaced around the chamber. In the center of the floor was a dark
blue carpet bearing a design of intertwined eight-pointed green
stars outlined in gold.

Alucius could see that the quarters were a mirror image of those
where he had stayed before, with few differences in furnishings or
decor.

"The bedchamber is over here…"

The bedchamber was small only by comparison to the sitting room.
It also had a view of the palace, with a high triple-width bed and two
matching armoires. Alucius set down his saddlebags and laid the
rifles on the weapons rack most gratefully. Beyond the
bedchamber was the bath chamber. The tub there was carved out
of a single marble block, with two spigots of shimmering bronze.

"I assume you'd like your uniforms cleaned. If you let one of the
orderlies know after you get back from supper tonight, they can
have them cleaned and pressed before noon tomorrow."

"That would be helpful," Alucius said politely.

"Majer Keiryn will escort you to dinner in about two glasses."
Wasenyr glanced around. "I believe… is there anything… ?"

"No. You've been most helpful." Alucius turned to Feran. The
overcaptain's face held a bemused expression. "I'll see you then.
I'm sure your quarters will be similar to these."

"Oh, yes, sir. Almost the same, except his look out to the east."

Once the two had left, Alucius walked back into the bath chamber
and turned one of the spigots, hoping the water was at least
warmish. It was warm, but not hot.

He took his time bathing and cleaning up, and laying out clothes to
be cleaned later. After a season on the road, he intended to take
full advantage of the amenities available.

Majer Keiryn—the same Keiryn who had accomplished the same
task once before, tall and redheaded—arrived almost exactly two
glasses later, accompanied by Feran. Keiryn escorted them down
two levels and to the eastern end of the headquarters building to
the exact same private dining room where Alucius had dined three
years earlier with Wyerl and Alyniat. The single circular table was
covered in a shimmering white linen, with blue linen napkins. Each
of the four places was set with silver cutlery, platters and plates of
cream porcelain rimmed in gold and blue, and with two goblets set
before each of the four diners. On a side table were several
bottles of wine in the amber bottles.

"Marshal Frynkel should be joining us shortly." Keiryn paused.

"He's the only one in Tempre right now?" asked Alucius. "The only
marshal?"

"Yes, sir. Really one of the few senior officers here. Marshal
Alyniat took most of the senior colonels, too. You're probably the
third-ranking officer in Tempre right now, behind Marshal Frynkel
and Majer-colonel Dytryl."

And the youngest colonel in Lanachrona, Alucius reflected… so
long as he held the rank.

"The marshals aren't promoting many majers to colonel?" asked
Feran.

Keiryn frowned, tilting his head slightly, pausing before he replied,
"No. I think Colonel Alucius is the only promotion I know of in the
last year. I know that Marshal Frynkel noted that when he received
the dispatch from Marshal Alyniat." Keiryn offered an embarrassed
smile. "I shouldn't have mentioned that, but… it is true."

"I'm sorry I'm late," came a voice from the doorway as Frynkel
stepped into the small dining room. "I lost track of time." The
marshal smiled as warmly as Alucius had seen. "I can't tell you how
happy I am to see you both, especially you, Colonel."

Alucius could sense that, pleased as Frynkel was, the marshal
seemed almost more relieved than pleased.

"I had to send a message to the Lord-Protector confirming your
safe arrival and telling him about the ceremony on Duadi." Frynkel
gestured to the table. "Please be seated."

As soon as the four officers were gathered around the table, a
single orderly appeared and immediately poured a pale amber
wine from one of the bottles into the smaller goblet in front of each
officer.

Frynkel lifted his goblet. "To our guests."

"With our gratitude for your hospitality," Alucius replied, lifting his
own goblet. Feran lifted his as well.

The orderly vanished, then reappeared to set a small plate atop the
one before each diner. On the small plate was a pastry no more
than the width of three fingers.

"Cavern mushrooms in pastry. Very delicate and tasty," offered
Frynkel, taking a bite after speaking.

Alucius wasn't sure that he didn't like the flaky pastry better than the
filling, but even the mushrooms were better than cactus or prickle.

Frynkel began to speak. He did not look directly at Alucius. "I'll
need to meet with you tomorrow, Alucius, but that's almost a
formality. Still… debriefings are one of those necessities." He
smiled. "It's a pity, in some ways, that you're here in winter. You're
used to colder winters than ours, of course, but the gardens aren't
in bloom, and the river's far too cold for sailing…"

To Alucius, it was more than clear that Frynkel was both fulfilling a
duty and avoiding discussing anything bearing on what had
happened in Hyalt or around Southgate. Given Alucius's own
tiredness and sore muscles, that was probably just as well.

He sipped the wine and listened.
Chapter 101

Slightly after midmorning on Lundi, Alucius sat in a comfortable
wooden armchair on the other side of a table desk, behind which
sat Marshal Frynkel.

Frynkel looked across the desk at Alucius. Once again, his eyes
were dark-rimmed, and the right one twitched. Absently, the
marshal pressed against it with the side of his palm. "You'll be
meeting with the Lord-Protector at the fourth glass past noon
tomorrow. Captain Wasenyr will escort you."

"Yes, sir."

"It was his request. He has been most impressed with your
accomplishments." Frynkel paused. "For all that you did, we're far
from winning the war against the Regent of the Matrial. I gather you
understand that."

"We've regained the territory that was lost. Perhaps more,"
suggested Alucius.

"The Regent of the Matrial is still a problem. We suggested a
truce. She refused. Her answer was that she will continue to fight
until Southgate and all of the south and Harmony and all of the
north are returned. She also demanded ten thousand golds in
reparations, to be paid immediately."

"Madrien never held Southgate."

"That doesn't seem to matter to her," Frynkel paused. "What do
you know about this Regent?"

"Almost nothing."

"We know less than you do," Frynkel said. "That's even if you know
nothing beyond your time in Madrien. She was a marshal named
Sulythya, and everyone else decided to obey her. We don't know
why. Do you?"

"You know I escaped Madrien when the Matrial vanished and the
torques failed. The Regent or someone under her has managed to
re-power some of those torques."

Frynkel fixed his eyes on Alucius. The tic in his right eye twitched
more rapidly. "That's something you know as a herder?"

Alucius nodded. "If I get close to them, I can feel them."

"Could she repower them all?"

"I don't know," Alucius admitted. "It took me by surprise."

"Hmmm." Frynkel frowned. "Does Marshal Alyniat know this?"

"He might. He might not. I didn't recognize what the feeling was
until I was on the way back to Tempre," lied Alucius. "So I thought
I'd tell you."

"Convenient," suggested Frynkel.

"You have to remember that I wasn't in very good shape after
those battles, and I wasn't thinking my best," Alucius pointed out.
"We did destroy the crystal spear-throwers."

"Yes… Marshal Alyniat did note my circumspection in giving you
only verbal orders for that," replied the marshal.

"I thought that our best efforts would be to handle what the regular
Southern Guard could not, sir."

"Your initiative was commendable." Frynkel's laugh was almost a
bark. "You'll be better off in Dekhron, Colonel."

"If that is what the Lord-Protector wishes, Marshal."

"I doubt any of us wish that, Colonel. We all recognize that your
presence in Dekhron is necessary so long as Madrien remains a
threat."

Both Lanachrona and Madrien were threats to the Iron Valleys,
Alucius thought, but Madrien was the greater and more immediate
danger. "Is that the only threat?"

"Candidly… no," admitted Frynkel. "We've received reports that
the young Praetor of Lustrea is rebuilding his forces. It's likely that
he will make an effort to annex Deforya within the next year or so.
Or the grasslands of Illegea and Ongelya—or all three."

"If he chooses to do so, and the Lord-Protector does not send any
support, he will succeed."

"Do you think we should aid Deforya?"

"Not so long as the landowners hold power. They cannot control
the people except through water and fear, and they will not spend
the coins necessary for an effective fighting force. Nor will that
force ever be well commanded."

"Water? How does that control the people?"

"All the water in Deforya comes from the great ancient aqueducts.
Whoever holds the aqueducts controls the water. Without water…"
The point was obvious to Alucius, so obvious that he'd seen it as a
fresh overcaptain years before.

"I'm glad to know that you agree with the Lord-Protectors
decisions."

"I did not know the Lord-Protector's decision," Alucius said mildly,
wondering why Frynkel had such an edge behind his questions.
"How could I? I only know what I saw when I was there."

"You took a great deal upon yourself," Frynkel suggested.

Alucius did not reply for a time, considering. Finally, he replied. "I
had few choices. Even before I reported to Marshal Alyniat, there
were colonels trying to order me around, trying to waste my forces
on what would have been useless attacks or defenses."

"Useless? The defense of Southgate was useless?"

"No, sir. Direct attacks on any force with a spear-thrower or any
defenses against one, unless you happen to be behind a thick
stone wall, are useless."

"And you didn't attack directly, Colonel?"

"No, sir. We used stealth to obtain an explosive result." What
Alucius said was true, but not in the way he hoped Frynkel would
take it.

"How did you manage that?"

"As I wrote you, sir."

Frynkel pressed his twitching eye with his left hand. "Ah, yes. Your
report. I should get around to reading that."

Alucius was confused. Frynkel was lying about the report. But if he
had read it, why would he say he hadn't?

"How dangerous are you to the Lord-Protector?" questioned the
marshal.

Alucius laughed. "I'm not at all dangerous to him. He's the only real
chance we herders have to keep our way of life."

Frynkel nodded. "How dangerous are you to the Southern Guard?"

"Not at all. Though some senior officers might feel otherwise."

"A number apparently do. Colonel Hubar protested your
highhanded actions. Colonel Sarthat has demanded that you be
stripped of rank and executed for assaulting a senior officer."

"I never even raised a hand against the colonel," Alucius said.

"He claims you used some herder skill to throw him to the floor and
break his nose."

"Exactly how many Matrites did Colonel Sarthat kill? How many
crystal spear-throwers did he destroy? How many bullets did he
take?" Alucius's words turned icy. "You suggested, sir, that you
and Marshal Alyniat and the Lord-Protector needed results. You
requested, and you promised. I kept my word. I delivered. How
many of those who have complained have delivered?" Alucius's
eyes blazed.

A reluctant smile crossed Frynkel's face. "None of them, as you
know. That was why Marshal Alyniat breveted you on the spot.
That's been protested, also. All of those protests have been
denied. I'd like to send Sarthat against the Matrites, but I don't want
to lose scarce lancers with him. Hubar dispatched his protest
before he was killed."

"And you've been pressing me… just to see how I react?"

"Mostly. And to give you a feeling of just how unreasonable people
in authority can be. That also goes for factors or merchants who
feel they have authority. You'll have to face them as commander of
the Northern Guard."

Alucius nodded. If the Lord-Protector still offered that, Alucius
would need to ask for some additional authority for the position.

"There are still times when it pays to say that you understand
someone's concerns and that you'll look into them," Frynkel said.
"Most people aren't reasonable. They think they are, and they
rationalize what they want, but they're selfish. We all are. It's a wise
man who knows what his own selfishnesses are and who can set
them aside."

"That's difficult."

"No. For you, it's clear that it's not. In a sense, that's one of the
greatest problems you'll face. You have fewer delusions than
most. I'm not certain that you understand just how many delusions
most people have. Most people are more like Majer Fedosyr than
like you, although they usually aren't so direct as to cross blades.
People have an image of themselves, and they'll do almost
anything to maintain that image. I wouldn't be that surprised if
Colonel Hubar just managed to get himself killed because you did
too much damage to the image he had of himself."

That was something Alucius hadn't even considered.

"Now… the official ceremony is tomorrow, and I'll present the
commendations on behalf of the Lord-Protector." Frynkel paused.
"You do have to wear this one, Colonel, at least on your dress
uniform. It's sufficient, and you're wise not to wear the stars. That's
becoming modesty. In late afternoon, you'll have your audience
with the Lord-Protector, and then you'll have an early supper with
him. After that…" The marshal shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure
you'll be returning to Dekhron fairly soon, but that's in the hands of
the Lord-Protector."

"I can see that."

"That's all I have." Frynkel stood. "By the way, your rank as a majer-
colonel in the Southern Guard has been made permanent."

"Thank you, sir." Alucius rose.

"Don't thank me. For all that you've done, you'll go through at least
as much holding the rank as getting it. Until tomorrow."

Alucius inclined his head. "Until then." As he left Frynkel's study,
the older officer's words reverberated through his thoughts. While
he doubted that he could take more wounds than he'd already
taken and survive, that hadn't been what Frynkel had meant. In a
way, he appreciated the example that Frynkel had presented
without warning, because it had illustrated how suddenly people
changed from reasonable to less reasonable as something dear to
them was threatened.
Chapter 102

After the meeting with Frynkel, Alucius had met with Feran and the
two captains, then spent much of the day arranging for everything
from riding rations to replacement uniforms. Every single item had
to be obtained from somewhere else, and each required a
different form. By the end of Lundi, Alucius was exhausted, and his
ribs had begun to ache once more.

He and Feran had a quiet supper in the senior officers' mess,
bringing the two captains as guests. When supper was over,
Alucius excused himself and retired to his quarters. There, he
wrote a lengthy letter to Wendra and climbed into the overlarge
bed.

Lundi had not been a short day, and before long Alucius was
asleep.

When he woke, it was still dark. He struggled out of the bed and
toward the bath chamber. But when he stepped through the
doorway, he found himself in the hall with the pinkish marble walls,
tinged with purple. The half pillars of goldenstone seemed larger
than before, and the ceiling, if of the same pink marble, was lower.
All the stonework was precise, so precise that even with Talent, he
could detect neither joints nor mortar. His bare feet felt chill on the
polished stone floor.

He looked down at the octagonal sections of green marble and
their inset eight-pointed stars of golden marble, but when his eyes
lifted, the walls had shifted closer to him. Again, he could discover
no windows, no doors, and the walls began to press in on him.

In moments, the cold marble walls were inexorably contracting
toward him, viselike, and not even his Talent could find him a way
out.

Sweat poured down his forehead. He had to get out… somehow.
He had to—

Alucius shuddered… and found himself standing beside the bed in
the senior officers' quarters. His forehead was soaked. In fact, he
was damp all over.

Why was he still having the dream? He was in Tempre, and,
presumably, after his audience with the Lord-Protector, would be
headed back to the Iron Valleys, either to Dekhron or to Iron Stem.

Or was it because he feared going to Dehkron, of being hemmed
in there as colonel? Or because no matter what he did, no matter
how successful he was, he still seemed to have no choices, and
those he did have just restricted him further?

What could he do to change that?

He would have to do something. He had to… Didn't he?

He took a slow, deep breath, and blotted his forehead with the
back of his forearm, ignoring the twinges in his ribs.
Chapter 103

On Duadi morning, Alucius stood just north of the rear portico to
Southern Guard headquarters, at the front of the lancers of the
three companies, waiting for Marshal Frynkel to appear. The other
three officers stood in a row behind him, with Feran in the center.
Captain Wasenyr and Majer Keiryn stood on the top of the steps of
the portico.

"Think we'll have to wait long, sir?" asked Feran.

"He'll be on time, or close to it," Alucius suggested.

Almost as Alucius finished his words, the marshal appeared from
the archway off the portico and moved forward to the edge of the
steps. From there he surveyed the lancers formed up below.

"Ceremonies should not be too short or too long," Frynkel began.
"If they are too short, the importance of what they reward is lost.
Too long, and that importance is trivialized by boredom." He
paused. "I will try to be neither too short nor too long."

Alucius wondered how one judged whether something was too
short or long, or did Frynkel just gauge the reaction as he
proceeded?

"It is not often that three companies are sent out to do a task that
others have judged impossible. It is even less often that they
succeed in accomplishing the task. It is less often than that that
they do so and return. It is unheard of for three companies to do
that twice, and in less than a season…"

Frynkel went on to summarize what the three companies had done
in both Hyalt and in Southgate, clearly using Alucius's reports as
the basis for his remarks. Then he added a few words about the
unit commendation and about how few lancer companies received
the award.

"… These were not only notable achievements, but were
achievements absolutely necessary to preserve Lanachrona as a
land of freedom and prosperity, and achievements most worthy of
special attention and honor. For this reason, you all unreservedly
deserve the commendation of the Lord-Protector and will be
awarded that commendation. In addition, because lancers cannot
live on words alone, the commendation also comes with a bonus
of two weeks' pay, which you will receive on your next payday."
Frynkel permitted himself a smile. "And in keeping with my promise
to be neither too terse nor too verbose, I will close by saying that
both the Lord-Protector and I appreciate your efforts. We
commend you for efforts well-done and honorable, and we are
greatly honored by your service, accomplishments, and dedication.
Well and bravely done!"

Frynkel inclined his head to the lancers below and to the officers.
"Carry on." He turned and reentered the headquarters building.

Alucius turned. "Dismissed to company officers."

"Dismissed to squad leaders."

The three officers eased toward Alucius.

"The men'll like the bonus," Deotyr said.

"Half of 'em will have it spent before they get it," Jultyr suggested.

"Half of them? " asked Feran so sardonically that all the others
laughed.

"They'll still have the commendation when the coins are gone,"
Alucius pointed out, "but for now they can enjoy the coin."

"And they will."

"So will I," Feran said. "We get the same bonus. I know. I asked."

Alucius couldn't help smiling. "That's all for now. I won't know more
about what we're doing until after I meet with the Lord-Protector
this afternoon. I'll let you know tomorrow morning—if I
know—before muster."

After Jultyr and Deotyr left, Feran waited, then asked, "Do you
really think we'll be headed back?"

"I think it's very likely."

"Why? Because they don't like us making them look bad?"

"Twenty-eighth and Thirty-fifth Companies did well, and they were
little more than recruits. I don't think the Southern Guard lancers
are bad. Not so good as ours, but better than most other lands."

"You know what you're saying, honored Colonel, don't you?"

Alucius raised his eyebrows. "That they've got too many political
officers? Yes. Marshal Alyniat said he'd taken a great amount of
criticism for promoting senior squad leaders to captain and
stipending off colonels, and not promoting majers."

"He's got the right idea. Whether it will last beyond him is another
question."

Alucius nodded.

The two turned and walked toward the barracks.

Alucius conducted an informal inspection, something he had often
done, but not recently, for obvious reasons, then spent a good
glass in the stables with Feran, assessing the state of their mounts.
He wanted a solid sense of what Fifth Company needed before he
met with the Lord-Protector. Then he went back to his quarters to
write down his observations and what he and Feran had
determined was necessary for the return to Iron Stem. While he
might never mention them to the Lord-Protector, he would need to
request those items from someone, and while he had what he
needed in mind, he began to write a draft of those needs.

Before all that long, or so it seemed, Captain Wasenyr had
appeared to escort him to the palace, and the two walked back
down to the stables.

"What happened to Captain Deen?" Alucius asked, recalling the
rather charming verbose captain who had last briefed him on an
audience with the Lord-Protector.

"Deen?" Captain Wasenyr frowned, then nodded, "He' an
overcaptain now, works for Majer Ashynst. Talks to people, gathers
ideas… I think that's what he does…"

Deen had been good at talking, but Alucius had his doubts about
his listening.

"You've had an audience with the Lord-Protector, Colonel, and
you're on the preferred list. You really don't need much briefing.
Captain-colonel Ratyf is still the director of appointments. You
know that no weapons are allowed in the audience chamber,
except for your sabre. It's considered a ceremonial weapon. Your
audience is private. Almost all with Guard officers are these days."

Once they reached the stables and mounted, the two officers rode
around the east side of the building and through the outer gates.
From there, they turned right. Their mounts carried them westward
toward the river and the Grand Piers and green towers that lay
beyond the Lord-Protector's palace.

Alucius glanced at the gardens that flanked both sides of the
boulevard. Despite the winter season, the grass was green, as
were the hedges, even those trimmed into the shapes of animals,
but the flowers that he had seen before were absent. Guards in
cream-shaded uniforms were posted at intervals along the low
stone walls bordering the boulevard, and others walked along the
stone paths, but Alucius had the sense that there were fewer
guards than before. He also saw only a single woman with a child,
and one couple. It might have been the cooler weather, but the
gardens were far less attended than upon his previous visit.

"You are familiar with the Lord-Protectors' gardens?" inquired
Captain Wasenyr.

"I saw them on my last visit. They look as well kept as then, but
fewer people are enjoying them."

"That might be so. These are harder times for all."

Ahead of them, beyond both the gardens and the palace, the
green towers flanking the Grand Piers were clearly visible, spires
identical to the one in Iron Stem and those in Dereka.

Alucius took a last look at the gardens as he rode past the wall on
the right side of the boulevard, a stone wall a good four yards high,
which marked the beginning of the palace grounds. On the left
side, the gardens—although divided by the Avenue of the Palace
running northward from the high road—continued westward to the
Grand Piers.

"Here, sir." Captain Wasenyr gestured to the first entrance.

The palace entryway was a portico only slightly larger than that of
the entry to Southern Guard headquarters. Waiting for them was a
half squad of guards in dark blue uniforms trimmed with silver.
There were also two stableboys standing by as the two officers
reined up. At the top of the steps above the mounting blocks stood
another captain. Like Captain Wasenyr, he wore blue braid across
his shoulders. Alucius felt he had met the man on his last visit but
did not recall his name.

Captain Wasenyr did not dismount. "I leave you here, sir."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius dismounted, handing the chestnut's reins to a stableboy.

The graying captain stepped down to meet Alucius. "Captain
Alfaryl, Colonel. Captain-colonel Ratyf asked me to escort you."

"Thank you." Alucius was glad the captain had offered his name.
"It's been more than three years, but you were my escort the last
time, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I think so."

Alucius laughed. "You must escort hundreds of officers and
others. This is but my second audience."

"That's more than all but the marshals usually get, sir."

Not having a ready reply to that, Alucius followed Alfaryl through the
double stone arches. Beyond the arches was a square vaulted
entry hall that rose a good ten yards overhead and measured
fifteen yards on a side. Light poured through the high clerestory
windows on the south side. The polished granite floor was inlaid
with long strips of blue marble, creating a blue-edged diamond
pattern.

Captain Alfaryl led Alucius through the middle of three square
arches into a corridor that stretched a good forty yards. After less
than twenty yards they turned left into a short corridor, at the end of
which was a set of high double doors. In front of the doors stood
four guards in blue and silver. Silently, the one in the center
opened a door, holding it as Alucius and the captain stepped
through. Just as silently, the door closed behind them.

Beyond the door was a large chamber, with a number of settees
and upholstered armchairs, and with blue-and-cream hangings.
Thick carpets, in blue and cream, stretched over the granite floor.
Several portraits hung on the light-wood-paneled walls. All were of
men, past Lord-Protectors. The chamber was empty, except for
Alucius, Captain Alfaryl, and the captain-colonel who walked toward
them.

"Captain-colonel Ratyf," said Alfaryl, "Majer-colonel Alucius."

"Ah… yes. It is good to see you again, sir. The Lord-Protector is
most looking forward to seeing you. I will tell him you're here." The
captain-colonel vanished through a small doorway, then returned
nearly instantaneously. "Do enter, sir."

Alucius turned to Alfaryl. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir."

Alucius followed Ratyf's gesture and stepped through the larger
door in the rear of the waiting chamber.

The captain-colonel held the door and announced in a deep voice,
"Colonel Alucius of the Northern Guard."

After entering the audience hall, Alucius heard the door click shut
behind him.

Nothing had changed from the last time Alucius had been in the
hall. It remained not that much larger than the corridor leading to
the waiting chamber, and the goldenstone walls were draped with
the same rich blue hangings, and lighttorches were everywhere.
The polished white marble floor was patterned with the same blue
stone as in the outer entry hall, but the pattern was that of smaller
oblongs.

"Greetings, Colonel. Once more, you've accomplished the
impossible." The Lord Protector stepped away from the white onyx
throne, whose high stone back rose into a spire, at the tip of which
was a shimmering blue crystal star.

"We have done our best to accede to your requests, sir." Alucius
moved forward, stopping short of the dais on which the slender
darkhaired man in the severe blue violet tunic stood.

"You have apparently rendered me yet another service that I
cannot fully repay on a request of you that I cannot acknowledge in
full—not publicly."

"Neither of us had a choice, sir. Not really."

The Lord-Protector Talryn smiled, spoke, his words carrying a
trace of a laugh. "That is one of the ironies of power and position.
The greater each of these is, the fewer real and wise choices there
are, and yet there is the illusion that those who have power and
position have an immense range of choice."

Alucius smiled in return. "They do, sir. They have an immense
range of choice to make mistakes."

Talryn broke into a deep laugh. When he finally stopped, he shook
his head. "When you were on your way to Hyalt, I read Marshal
Frynkel's report about what occurred in Krost. Later, your report on
Hyalt was most revealing, and so were Marshal Alyniat's and your
reports on the events that took place in Southgate."

"I would that I could enjoy and utilize your services here in Tempre,
but, for many reasons, that would not be wise. Lanachrona is too
old and the Southern Guard too traditional for a colonel of your
directness. Nor would the Iron Valleys or the Northern Guard be
well served. They need you, and I need you there." The Lord-
Protector extended an envelope, then a pair of insignia. "You are
hereby promoted permanently to majer-colonel in the Southern
Guard, and colonel in the Northern Guard. The Lord-Protector's
acceptance of Colonel Weslyn's request to be stipended is
enclosed, along with your orders and appointment as commandant
of the Northern Guard. Your orders allow you to make any and all
changes you deem necessary within the structure of the Northern
Guard, but they do not provide you with any additional powers of
conscription, nor do they change my standing order against
conscription of herders…"

"Sir…" Alucius stopped. The Lord-Protector was right.

"Do you have any thoughts or requests?"

"Yes, sir." Alucius did have thoughts, one in particular.

The Lord-Protector's eyebrows rose. "Yes…"

"I believe that the Northern Guard headquarters should be moved
from Dekhron, While Lanachrona and the Iron Valleys were
contending with each other, that placement was sensible. I fear that
for the years to come, the greater threat will be in the west."

"You think Iron Stem, perhaps?" A smile curled into the corners of
the Lord-Protector's mouth.

"Yes, sir. If that would seem too self-serving, then I would suggest
Wesrigg. There is already an outpost there. But Iron Stem would
be better, because it is the junction of the two high roads, north and
west."

The Lord-Protector nodded. "I can see that. Would you move the
entire Guard from Dekhron?"

"Yes, sir. For many reasons."

"That will cost golds, Colonel."

"Yes, sir. It will. At first. Later, it will be less costly. Far less costly.
And I have another request."

"Another?" The mock astonishment was colored with amusement.

"I would like an order closing the dustcat establishment in Iron
Stem."

This time, puzzlement appeared on Talryn's face.

"I would close every such establishment anywhere. It is a filthy and
degrading addiction." Alucius shrugged. "That would not work. It
would only crop up elsewhere. But requiring Gortal to move his
establishment from Iron Stem will disrupt some of that trouble…
and I would not wish that establishment near the Northern Guard."

"How would you handle that?"

"If I have the authority, it will occur." Alucius's voice was cold.

"You may have the authority for both—with a single proviso. You
may not announce either until after the turn of spring. We will
discuss, if by dispatch, how to make these changes, and you and
Marshal Frynkel will work out the details."

Alucius nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Have you any other official requests?"

Alucius caught the slight emphasis on "official." "No, sir."

"Then, you have my leave to return to Dekhron as you see fit, but
no later than a week from now. You will take both Southern Guard
companies, with some replacement lancers, and I would
appreciate your efforts at ensuring they get training. Once you are
certain that you have full control of the Northern Guard, you can
detach those companies and send them back to Tempre." Talryn
offered the quickest of grins. "You can also promise them a month
of furlough once they return. Now…" The Lord-Protector reached
back and lifted a bell, ringing it gently. "I have my own request."

"Sir?"

"My consort and wife, the Lady Alerya, has requested that you join
us for an early supper. I believe you were informed of the supper,
but not by whom the request was made." Talryn rose and
announced to the seemingly empty audience hall, "The audiences
are concluded for the day."

Alucius followed the Lord-Protector into the chamber off the
audience hall, up the private circular stairs to the upper level, and
out into a hallway. Across the archway from the stairs was a set of
double doors, before which were stationed two guards.

Talryn opened one door, but gestured for Alucius to step into the
private foyer before following. On the other side of the foyer and
through an archway, in the sitting room on the love seat set
between two end tables, was a young woman. She held a small
child, barely more than an infant, in her lap. She rose as Alucius
and the Lord-Protector entered the room.

"Colonel Alucius, this is my wife and consort, the Lady Alerya—and
my son Talus."

Alucius bowed to the slender young woman who carried the child,
perhaps six months of age, already with the dark brown hair and
eyes of his sire. "Lady." He straightened.

Alerya looked straight at Alucius, then she inclined her head… and
smiled. "I thought as much. It was not a dream, was it?"

Alucius debated. "No, lady, but it is best treated as one. Healing by
herders is not well thought of."

Talryn looked at Alucius. "You…"

"I could have denied it, and who would have known?"

"But… so many could benefit…"

Alucius shook his head. " So few… it takes much time and energy.
It cannot be done often, and it is often not successful. You have
treated fairly with the Iron Valleys—and the herders. Far more fairly
than have the traders of Dekhron. Call it the reward you most
deserved, and I am pleased to have been able to have done so."

The Lord-Protector was silent, clearly both relieved and angered
simultaneously.

"He has given more than he has received, Talryn. Far more. Do not
ask more. Ever." Alerya's voice was soft, but Alucius could sense
the steel behind it.

Talryn laughed, softly and ruefully. "My commander of the north
and my consort. Truly, I am well served." He inclined his head to
Alucius. "My lady is correct. I can never fully repay you, but I will
heed you. I do ask that you do not leave me bereft of your advice."

"Mine is no better than that of many," Alucius replied, "but I will do
as you request."

Talryn laughed again. "It is better that I do not request, but allow
you to use your judgment."

"Before we dine, I have but one question of a prying nature,"
Alerya offered, "but I must ask."

Alucius couldn't help but respect the Lord-Protector's consort. "I
will answer as I can."

"Talus… did you… ?"

"No. I healed you. That was all. I had hoped."

"Thank you." Alerya's smile was broad.

Alucius could sense a great relief from Talryn, and for that he was
grateful for Alerya's question.

"Should I ask how you managed that?"

"You can ask, sir, but I can only say that it was tied in with the
Recorder."

"We should eat, Talryn, before Talus gets terribly fussy."

Alucius looked at the boy, and the slightest wave of sadness swept
over him. He had not yet even seen Alendra.

"We should indeed." With a smile, the Lord-Protector turned
toward a set of open doors that revealed a small dining room.

As he entered, Alucius could not help but see that it was set for
only three, and he was placed on one side, while Talryn and Alerya
sat at either end. Alerya still held Talus, who was making a
determined effort to grasp and gnaw on the blue linen cloth that
covered the table.

"This is a personal supper," Talryn said. "No Lord-Protectors or
colonels."

"And no tactics." Alerya took a sip of wine as soon as the steward
poured it. "I trust you will not mind, but I will eat and drink as I can,
else I may get little nourishment."

"Go ahead, my dear."

"Please," added Alucius. "You spend much time with him, I see."

"Most of every day. I have seen too many children raised by
servants and tutors, and then parents wonder why their child shares
none of their values and understandings." She took another sip of
the red wine. "I am most fortunate that my lord understands and
that this is something we can do."

"You can do," Talryn said.

"You spend much more time with him than did your sire with you."

"You set a good example, my lady," Talryn laughed.

"Talryn has talked about herders and the north. Would you tell me
what it is like, truly like, to be a herder?"

Alucius smiled. "I can tell you what I feel, and some things. To tell it
all would take far longer than we have."

"Tell what you can, if you would."

"There is a feel about being a herder, and about the land and the
nightsheep. One of my first memories was when I saw a ramlet
who had been abandoned, and I persuaded him to take a bottle. I
was very young, perhaps four or five…" Alucius continued with the
story of Lamb, still slightly amazed that he was having a private
supper with the two.


II.
THE SCEPTER OF THE PRESENT


Chapter 104

The noon sun was mostly obscured by a hazy sky, and a bitter wind
blew out of the northeast from the Aerial Plateau as Alucius and his
companies neared the southern edge of Salaan and the scattered
huts of the small holders who scrabbled out an existence on the
dry ridges south of the River Vedra. The trip back had been long,
and the only thing that Alucius could say for it was that he had
healed—mostly, although he still wore the brace on his right
forearm—and that no forces and no Talent-creatures had attacked
them.

One of the wagons carried the pay chests for the entire coming
spring season for the Northern Guard, as well as a chest for
supplies, possibly because Marshal Frynkel had seen the
advantage of escorting so much gold with three companies.
Another carried barrels of dried southern fruit—a gift of sorts to
Fifth Company and the Northern Guard from the Lord-Protector's
consort.

Alucius was looking forward to seeing Wendra, although he had no
idea when that might be, not when he had to relieve Colonel
Weslyn. He had no doubt that delivering that dispatch from the
Lord-Protector would be anything but pleasant. In the past,
however, the colonel had always been courteous—then had acted
covertly in one fashion or another. Given Weslyn's closeness to
the traders of Dekhron, Alucius could be certain that once the
colonel left the Guard, Alucius would face all manner of difficulties
with a number of the traders, if not with all of them. That excessive
influence of the traders was just another reason why he wanted to
move Northern Guard headquarters to Iron Stem.

He had finally received a letter from Wendra just before he'd left
Tempre, assuring him that both she and Alendra were doing well,
as was the stead. She'd also mentioned obliquely that the
additional coins he had arranged for—the bonus paid to her—had
gone to purchase a ram and a ewe from her cousin Kyrtus's flock.
Knowing Wendra, she'd probably played on her cousin's fondness
for her to get a good price. Along the way, he'd sent her several
letters saying that he was headed back, but that he might have to
spend a few days in Dekhron debriefing Colonel Weslyn, since, as
she knew, that had been requested, along with other details, by the
Lord-Protector. That was as much as he dared put in ink.

And… in the days before he had ridden out of Tempre, he'd had
meetings, with Frynkel, with the supply chief of the Southern
Guard, and with his own officers. Both captains and Feran had
hardly seemed surprised at the Lord-Protector's decision to make
Alucius commander of the Northern Guard, but the captains had
been surprised at the decision for them to accompany Alucius to
Dekhron. Neither was that unhappy, because it ensured that they
would not be posted to Southgate or the west any sooner than
early summer and perhaps even much later.

Twice on the ride back to Dekhron, he'd had the dream of the walls
closing in on him. Was that the feeling that being the head of the
Northern Guard was a trap? But why, then, were the walls those of
an ifrit palace?

The one good thing about the length of the ride was that, for the
most part, Alucius felt almost back to normal as he neared
Dekhron.

Feran rode beside Alucius. "How do you want to handle telling
Weslyn?"

"I think it ought to be quick, and that we ought to take charge of
everything pretty much as quickly as possible."

"Close the gates?"

"No… but have the companies set up to control the post. I
suppose a few men ought to come in with me, armed and ready. I
can't believe he'd try something, but…" Alucius shrugged.

"He's a sandsnake, and I'll have a squad ready."

Alucius nodded. "Then, after I deliver the Lord-Protector's
dispatch, just gather the officers. After that, we'll figure out how to
tell all the lancers. We'll have to send dispatches to all the posts
and companies. For now, you're going to be my assistant. Then
you're going to be deputy."

"You didn't ask me, sir."

"I didn't. I'm not giving you the chance to say no." Alucius grinned.
"Besides, it means a bigger stipend."

"If I live to collect it."

"You will."

The wind grew more and more chill, and stronger, as they rode
through Salaan. Once they crossed the ancient eternastone bridge
and entered Dekhron, the patches of ice and the dirty granular
snow that had blown into side yards, alleys, and shaded areas
beside houses and buildings confirmed that they were in the north
and that it was winter. As Alucius turned the chestnut westward off
the high road and onto the avenue leading to Northern Guard
headquarters, he glanced northward, where dark clouds obscured
the Aerial Plateau. With the wind out of the northeast, Dekhron
would see more snow by late afternoon, certainly by nightfall.

"Forgot how cold it was, even this far south," observed Feran.

Alucius smiled. He didn't mind the cold, not nearly so much as the
heat of the south.

"You herders. Must have fires in your blood." Feran glanced ahead,
toward the open gates of the post. "Better get ready." He turned in
the saddle. "Fifth Company, rifles ready."

"Rifles ready!" The command echoed back along the column.

The two sentries at the gates looked up as they saw the uniforms
of Fifth Company. Those eyes widened as they saw the uncased
rifles and the two companies of Southern Guards that followed.

"Colonel Alucius, returning from Tempre," Alucius announced.

"Yes, sir."

Once inside, the commands continued. "Fifth squad. Cordon off
the armory!"

"Yes, sir. Fifth squad!" Zerdial's voice rang out. "To the armory."

"… Twenty-eighth Company… cordon the barracks!"

"Twenty-eighth Company! By squads…"

Feran motioned to Faisyn, then leaned over closer to the squad
leader and spoke in a low voice for a time. Alucius wondered, but
he was tired and didn't want to expend the Talent-effort. Besides,
he trusted them both, and they'd both saved his life at different
times.

"First four, you'll accompany me and the colonel," Faisyn ordered,
dismounting and tying his mount. "With rifles."

Alucius gave Feran a weary smile.

"It's safer that way," replied the overcaptain.

Alucius dismounted and walked up the steps into the headquarters
building, carrying the orders and dispatches from the Lord-
Protector.

Faisyn and four lancers from first squad followed, carrying rifles.

The ranker at the table outside the colonel's study looked up. He
swallowed as he saw Alucius. "Majer… we hadn't heard."

Alucius smiled. "It's Colonel, now."

The man paled.

"Is Colonel Weslyn in his study?"

"Ah… yes, sir. But… well… he and Majer Imealt…"

"That's fine." Alucius walked to Weslyn's door and eased it open.

Both officers were seated, Weslyn behind his desk, Imealt in front
of it, and both turned.

"I'd asked not—" Weslyn broke off as Alucius stepped into the
study, leaving the door open.

Alucius extended the sealed envelope to the silver-haired colonel.
"It's from the Lord-Protector. He asked that it be the first thing I
deliver on my return."

"Oh …?" Weslyn did not rise as he took the envelope. Belatedly,
his eyes flicked to the insignia on Alucius's collar. "Greetings, and
congratulations, Colonel."

"It might be best if you read the Lord-Protector's dispatch," Alucius
said.

"When I get a moment… right now… Majer Imealt and I…"

"Now." Alucius smiled politely.

"I am your commander—"

"No, Colonel. The Lord-Protector has accepted your resignation."

Alucius could hear the door opening wider behind him, but he
could sense that Faisyn had been the one to ease the door fully
open.

Imealt paled, his eyes darting to the door. "There are armed
lancers out there, Colonel."

"Just a precaution," Alucius said. "There are also two companies
of Southern Guards out there, as well as Fifth Company."

Weslyn looked at the seals on the envelope. "Were it anyone but
you, Colonel, I'd have doubts about the seals. You wouldn't stoop
to that." There was the slightest edge to his words. "Might I ask
why?"

Alucius smiled wanly. "It was his idea."

At that, Weslyn laughed, a low laugh, half-rueful, and half-bitter. "It
would be, wouldn't it?" He opened the envelope, carefully avoiding
the seals, and extracted the single ornate sheet. He read it, slowly,
carefully. Then he looked up. "Congratulations, Colonel. You're in
command. It's not what it seems, or what you think."

Alucius nodded. "I've known that for years."

"Nothing is. Nightsilk doesn't protect what it doesn't cover,
Colonel." Weslyn held a pistol, clearly aimed at Alucius's head.

There was also a pistol in Imealt's left hand.

Alucius stepped back, as if in astonishment, but also to his left.

"Fire!" he snapped, throwing himself sideways and down, and
flinging up his left arm across his face.

Something hammered into his upper arm.

Shots smashed past Alucius, one after the other.

Neither Imealt nor Weslyn even had the time to look astonished.
Both pitched forward.

Then Faisyn and two lancers were in the study.

"Sir?"

Alucius rose, slowly. He could barely move his left arm, but nothing
was broken. He could tell that. He stepped forward and looked at
the two dead officers. "My upper arm is going to be sore for a
time." He wanted to shake his head or bang his head against the
wall. He'd known that Weslyn hadn't been trustworthy, as he had
known Fedosyr had been untrustworthy. He'd even taken steps to
protect himself. Yet… when he'd walked into the study, he hadn't
quite believed that Weslyn would try treachery immediately. He'd
really expected it later. Not with pistols at the moment. He should
have, but he supposed that he'd thought that there were some
depths to which officers could not sink. He'd been wrong.

Feran appeared in the doorway. "Sir? Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. I just… I still couldn't believe…" Alucius used his right
arm to gesture to the two dead officers. "They pulled pistols and
tried to shoot me."

"They did shoot him, sir," offered Faisyn. "Without the nightsilk…"

"I'd still be alive, but my upper arm wouldn't be in good shape,"
Alucius admitted. "It won't be much use for days, anyway." After
dusting himself off with his right hand, awkwardly, he looked at the
two bodies. "Leave them where they are for now." He turned and
walked out of the study. The ranker who had been sitting at the
desk was standing against the wall with two lancers watching him.

"We thought he might be like the other two snakes," Faisyn said.

"What's your name, lancer?" Alucius asked.

"Nadalt, sir." The round-faced man kept looking from Alucius to the
lancers with rifles.

"What was the colonel so afraid of that he carried a pistol and tried
to shoot me?"

"I don't know, sir."

The apprehension behind the man's voice and his feelings
prompted Alucius to rephrase the question. "What is your best
thought as to what the colonel feared, Nadalt?"

"He… he… I really don't know for sure, sir…"

"I didn't ask for certainty. Or do you want to be court-martialed for
being part of this mutiny?"

"Mutiny? No, sir."

Alucius waited.

"I don't know, sir… except… well… in the last couple of years, he
never stayed in the commander's quarters upstairs, and he has a
big house on the west end of town, and… his wife, she died more
'n three years ago, and he had to borrow money to settle things,
and then two years ago… he bought the house when the trader
Ostar died… used to be Ostar's house…"

"What other officers are here in Dekhron?"

"Well, sir, there's Captain Yusalt. He's in charge of Seventh
Company—that's the only company here these days. Overcaptain
Shalgyr is the Guard quartermaster, but… I think I saw him hurry
out the back gate just a few moments after… after you met with the
colonel…" Nadalt paused. "Overcaptain Sanasus, he runs the
dispatch riders and messengers, and all the wagons and
teams—and the mounts here. He arranges for the pay chests to be
sent to the outposts. Oh… and Undercaptain Komur. He's in
charge of all the maintenance and equipment here at the post, and
I guess everything else that no one else does."

As he made a mental note of the names, Alucius had the definite
feeling that he wouldn't be seeing Overcaptain Shalgyr anytime
soon. The overcaptain had used the foot gate, the one that led to
the Red Ram, among other places in Dekhron.

"Sir… ?" Feran glanced toward Nadalt.

"Confine him somewhere until we get things sorted out," Alucius
said tiredly. "We might as well call in the officers, those who are
left here… right now, and tell them all what happened." He looked
at Feran. "You're the acting deputy commander."

"You aren't giving me a choice?"

"Not right now," Alucius said. "I wasn't given one, as I recall."

Feran barked a laugh. "Faisyn… have Egyl find some squad
leaders, and have them request the officers join the colonel here
immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Nadalt glanced from Alucius to Feran. The ranker's shoulders
seemed to droop.

"Where's the roster of all lancers stationed here?" Alucius asked
Nadalt.

"It's there… the black folder on the right, sir. The first pages are
headquarters. The others are listed by post after that."

Alucius walked to the narrow desk and lifted the folder, opening it
and beginning to read the names, counting as he did. The officer's
names on the roster agreed with what Nadalt had said. He
skimmed through the pages, frowning as he reached the end.
"Only eighteen companies?"

"Yes, sir. The colonel disbanded Nineteenth and Twentieth
Companies in early fall. He said we didn't have the coins to supply
and pay them. But… no one was released, not really. They were
just transferred to other companies, and the officers replaced
others."

"Did the colonel inform Marshal Frynkel or the Lord-Protector?"

"I… ah… I wouldn't know, sir."

"Do you know of any messages or dispatches that he sent making
that known?"

"No, sir."

"Is it likely that you would not know?"

"No, sir." Nadalt's voice contained even greater dejection.

Alucius turned to see an angular and graying overcaptain step
through the front doorway.

"Colonel… Colonel Alucius?"

Alucius recognized the older man, who was somewhere between
forty and fifty, as he recalled. "Yes, Sanasus. I'm back. If you'd just
wait a moment until the others arrive."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius turned his attention back to Nadalt. "So… how likely is it
that Colonel Weslyn actually informed Tempre of his actions in
reducing the number of Guard companies? "

"Ah… not very likely, sir."

"And did he notify the Lord-Protector that the payroll needed to be
reduced?"

"Ah… not that I know of, sir."

Alucius turned as the last two officers walked into the open space
inside the doorway. He recognized Undercaptain Komur—a wiry
and short man with a weathered and tanned face. The blond and
stocky officer behind him had to be Captain Yusalt, younger than
the other two but still probably several years older than Alucius.

Alucius studied the three with his Talent, trying to gather
impressions, even as he began to speak. "I appreciate your rapid
arrival here. I wouldn't be surprised if word is all over the post, but
if it is not, I thought you should know before I talk to all the lancers.
The Lord-Protector was concerned that matters here in the
headquarters of the Northern Guard were not as they should be.
You may recall that Marshal Frynkel was here in early harvest
conducting an inspection tour." Alucius paused, letting the words
sink in.

Sanasus nodded slightly, as did Komur. Yusalt looked confused
and radiated that confusion.

"You may know that I was requested to take Fifth Company and
two others to Hyalt to put down a revolt. We did so, then were
ordered to the defense of Southgate. Our three companies
managed to destroy both crystal spear-throwers. The Matrites were
pushed back. We were summoned to Tempre, and there, we were
awarded the Lord-Protector's unit commendation and dispatched
here. I was ordered to relieve Colonel Weslyn. When I delivered
the Lord-Protector's acceptance of Colonel Weslyn's resignation,
the colonel and the majer both drew pistols and attempted to shoot
me."

Yusalt's confusion turned to shock, while Sanasus nodded once
more. A thin and crooked smile came to Komur's face.

"Fortunately, Overcaptain Feran was less trusting than I, and had
sent in several armed troopers. I survived. The colonel and the
majer did not. The Lord-Protector had been concerned about
certain irregularities in the Northern Guard. I think that the fact that
the colonel's initial reaction was to shoot a fellow officer suggests
those concerns were well-founded. I would also note that
Overcaptain Shalgyr immediately rode out of the outpost."

" 'Course he would, sir," said Komur. "Never let any of us see the
ledgers. Wouldn't even let me buy grease myself."

"Before we proceed further, I'd like each of you to look into the
colonel's study and also look at the dispatches and orders that I
brought with me. You might also note that I was entrusted with the
pay chests for the next two seasons. Those are in the guarded
wagon out in the courtyard."

Overcaptain Sanasus nodded. "I will look, as you suggested, sir,
but I have no doubts that matters are as you stated. They may be
even worse."

Alucius could sense that Sanasus believed what he said.

"But… Colonel Weslyn… he was the commander," Yusalt
protested. "Why…"

"To pay for that big house," suggested Komur. "And all those
wines from Vyan, and to pay off his trader friends."

Alucius stepped back as the three officers walked toward the
colonel's study.

The fact that two of the three had known something was wrong was
encouraging. The fact that they had not been able to do
anything—or not dared to—was more than discouraging.

The last thing Alucius wanted to do was to determine the extent of
the damage and how badly supplied, provisioned, and led the
Northern Guard might be—and those had to be among his very
first tasks. After making sure that all the Guard knew of the change
in command and leadership.

He looked bleakly toward the open door into the colonel's study.
Chapter 105
North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

Wendra settled into the rocking chair, set at an angle to the iron
stove of the main room. Outside, the wind moaned softly, and
despite the closed shutters, the floor was chill from what of the
biting cold had seeped into the stead dwelling.

"Little woman… you need to sleep."

A small fist waved, as if in protest.

"You do." Wendra began to rock slowly, looking down at her
daughter in the quiet of the late evening. Then she began to sing
the old song, the child's rhyme that she had always preferred sung
to spoken, the one that linked her husband and her daughter.



"Londi's child is fair of face.

Duadi's child knows his place.

Tridi's child is wise in years,

but Quatti's must conquer fears.



Quinti's daughter will prove strong,

while Sexdi's knows right from wrong.

Septi's child is free and giving,

but Octdi's will work hard in living.

Novdi's child must watch for woe,

while Decdi's child has far to go.



"But the soarer's child praise the most,

for she will rout the Sanders' host,

and raise the lost banners high

under the green and silver sky."



By the last words, Alendra's fist had relaxed, and her eyes were
closed, her breathing even.

Wendra smiled, murmuring softly, "Another soarer's child…"

Her eyes lifted to the east, toward the Plateau she could not see
through walls and shuttered windows. Then, slowly, she rose from
the rocking chair, careful not to wake the sleeping Alendra as she
carried her daughter toward her cradle.
Chapter 106

As he tried to gather himself together, to think about what else he
should be doing, Alucius stood for a moment outside the colonel's
study. Then he stiffened and looked toward Dhaget. "Can you get
Overcaptain Feran for me?"

"Yes, sir." Dhaget headed for the door to the courtyard.

"No one's left the post except Overcaptain Shalgyr, have they?"
Alucius asked the nearest lancer.

Fewal looked toward Roncar. "That'd be hard to say, sir. We don't
have a roster…"

Alucius nodded. It had been a foolish question, and he should
have thought before asking it. He'd have to try to avoid that sort of
thing. Commanders didn't ask stupid questions, not if they wanted
to stay commanders.

Feran hurried through the doorway. "You wanted me, sir?"

Alucius looked at Sanasus. "Do you know where Colonel Weslyn's
house is?"

Sanasus blinked. "His house?"

"The big one Undercaptain Komur mentioned. The one where he
just might have all the golds he took from the Guard."

"Yes, sir. I mean, it's less than a vingt from here."

Alucius looked at Feran.

"Two squads, you think?" asked Feran.

"That should do it. We need to hurry… and find a mount for
overcaptain Sanasus. Shalgyr may have headed there. He may not
have, but I don't want those golds vanishing, if they're there at all."
He paused. "You'd better stay here and keep a hold on things."

Feran nodded, then hurried back outside.

"Golds? You think… ?" Sanasus closed his mouth.

"I don't know, but if we wait very long, we'll never know." Alucius
was just hoping that he wasn't already too late. "If you'd stand by
here, Komur… and you come on with us, Overcaptain…"

"Yes, sir." A certain tone of resignation tinged Sanasus's voice.

Alucius hurried back outside and mounted the chestnut.

"Third and fourth squads will accompany you, Colonel," Feran
announced. "Holgart will act as senior squad leader."

"Sir, we're ready," announced Holgart. "There's a spare mount
here for the overcaptain."

Sanasus mounted quickly enough that only Alucius was likely
enough to have sensed his reluctance.

"Which way?" asked Alucius.

"Out the gates. Turn right, then west at the next cross street."

The ride was indeed short, less than three-quarters of a vingt,
Alucius judged, before they reined up before a large two-story
dwelling, a good twenty yards wide and close to twice that in depth.
There was a stable to the right rear, and a wide front porch
enclosed with a carved and painted pillared railing. A set of stone
steps rose from the graveled walk to the porch. A wide single door
with a stained-glass window was centered in the middle of the main
floor. The house itself was of graystone, with black shutters
trimmed in white. The roof was gray slate, and all the windows were
wide, the shutters open. Thin trails of gray smoke circled from both
chimneys.

All in all, a grand house, especially for a Northern Guard officer,
Alucius judged.

"Best let me knock, sir," Holgart suggested. "You've taken enough
shots."

"Be careful."

"That I will."

Four troopers stood with rifles leveled at the door as the squad
leader used the heavy bronze knocker to rap smartly on the plate
beneath.

The heavyset blond man who opened the door stood stock-still for
a moment. Finally, he spoke, "What's… what is the meaning of
this? The colonel will have your miserable hides for carpets."

"I'd not be thinking so, sir," offered Holgart. "Seeing as Weslyn's
no longer colonel, by the order of the Lord-Protector. Colonel
Alucius is the new commander of the Northern Guard. We're here
to recover the property stolen by Weslyn."

"Stolen?" The blond man, presumably Weslyn's son, from his size
and coloration, started to close the door.

Holgart wedged his big boot in the doorway and leveled his rifle at
the man's midsection. "I do believe you'd best be opening the
door and coming right out here on the porch."

The man looked out at the two squads of troopers, then at Alucius,
with the colonel's insignia on his collar. He let the door open and
stepped out.

"Degurt, you and the others secure the house! Report when it's
secure."

Alucius could tell with his Talent that the house was vacant, but said
nothing.

"There's no one here but me right now." The blond man looked at
Alucius, who had dismounted and walked to the steps at the
bottom of the porch. "This is disgraceful. My father still has some
influence… You will answer for this."

"I'm sure I will," Alucius admitted. "But I'll have even more to
answer for if I don't recover everything that's been stolen. The
Lord-Protector's not terribly sympathetic to theft by officers,
especially now."

"Theft? That's a serious charge… Colonel. My father is a good
officer."

"That remains to be seen. If we find nothing, then you will have my
deepest apologies, but we will be looking. You are?"

"Your apologies? Your apologies? You'll offer more than that."

"I'd like your name, if you wouldn't mind," Alucius said.

"Lynat."

"Lynat, if I am mistaken, you will have my apologies."

"If you're mistaken, and you are, my father will have your head."

"That's highly unlikely. He tried to kill me in sight of a half score
witnesses. He and Majer Imealt died in the attempt."

Lynat paled.

"Sir, the house is clear."

"Good." Alucius turned to Lynat. "I'll try to make as little disturbance
as possible. Please accompany us." He motioned to Sanasus.
"You, too, Overcaptain."

After using the boot scraper and brush, Alucius stepped into the
front foyer, its floor tiled in ceramic tile, with a geometric design in
dark green, black, and silver. A Deforyan-style chest, with a gilt-
edged mirror, stood on the left, a wall-hung, oak-backed row of
bronze garment hooks on the right. The archway to the left led to a
study, and Alucius stepped inside, using his Talent to search the
desk and cabinets, but they held little besides papers. The
bookcase under the side window held four shelves of leather-
bound volumes.

Alucius nodded and crossed the foyer to the front parlor, with its
two upholstered love seats, four armchairs, and two matching
sideboards—well designed and exquisitely crafted. The dining
room held a long cherry table and twelve chairs, with both a large
and small sideboard, and a carving table, all of matching design.
The chairs had blue and gold brocade upholstery. Behind the
dining room and to the right, the kitchen boasted an indoor pump
and a large iron stove, as well as a pantry that was a good three
yards by two. The rear laundry room was just that. Alucius noted
the doorway to the cellar stairs.

"We'll check the cellar last," he said mildly, watching Lynat. He
wasn't at all surprised at Lynat's worry and fear when he mentioned
the cellar. "Let's go upstairs."

Alucius briefly checked the three smaller bedrooms first. One was
disordered and clearly Lynat's. The only thing Alucius found there
were two Guard sabres and a pair of rifles.

"Not exactly proper," he said, setting the weapons on the end of
the unmade bed, "but not something to be that concerned about."
He turned to Sanasus. "Still… would you make a note of the serial
numbers on those?"

"Yes, sir."

The largest bedroom was in the northwest corner. The only thing of
interest there was a small chest set on the chest of drawers.
Alucius pretended to take a key, but actually used his Talent to
open the small lock.

"Where did you—"

Alucius opened the chest. Inside were perhaps twenty golds.

"Overcaptain… note that there were twenty golds in the chest in the
colonels bedchamber."

Lynat frowned, clearly puzzled as Alucius relocked the chest.

Then Alucius led the way back down to the locked door to the
cellar. He looked at Lynat. "Would you care to unlock it?"

"I don't have a key. You'll have to break it down if you want to open
it." A certain smugness permeated Lynat's voice.

"Oh, I think not." Again, Alucius stepped forward and took out a
key, the one to his own quarters. He stepped to the door, close
enough that no one could see, and used his Talent on the lock. It
was a heavy lock, and he was perspiring slightly when he finally
turned the lever and opened the door.

Below was dark.

Alucius let Holgart step forward with a striker to light the lamp on
the wall. Then he went down the stairs. Lynat followed, reluctantly.

On one side of the open space were several rows of barrels, all
with markings showing receipt by the Guard. On the other side,
neatly set in racks, were more than two hundred bottles of wine.

"Overcaptain, if you would note all the barrels and their contents."

"Yes, sir," replied Sanasus.

"And make a note of the number of bottles of wine."

On a rack on the west wall were four rifles, all Guard issue, as well
as another four sabres.

Alucius surveyed the clay-floored room slowly, using his Talent.
Then he nodded. The stone walls in the center, ostensibly the
support for the fireplaces above, actually concealed a single room.
He moved toward the stones, seeming to inspect each area, but in
fact using his Talent to find the hidden doorway and access.

"Here. Yes." The door opened.

As it did, Alucius could hear the hard swallow from Lynat.

Inside the small room was a built-in cabinet against one stone wall.
On top of the cabinet were two locked chests. Before addressing
the chests, Alucius checked the cabinet. It held a number of items,
such as an antique compass, some tarnished silver buttons, and a
small jewelry case in which were a golden necklace with a single
emerald, two gold rings, and a diamond-shaped golden brooch
with small diamonds at each corner. Alucius replaced the jewelry
case quickly, thinking of Wendra as he did.

He straightened and took a deep breath. There were no signs of
keys to the chest locks. So… he would have to use Talent.

In time, both chests stood open. Each was filled with golds, and
the majority were fresh-minted Lanachronan pieces, similar to
those sent in the payroll and supply chests that Alucius had
brought in the wagon from Tempre.

"Sanasus?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you kindly go up to the study and write out a receipt to
Lynat here, for two chests filled with Lanachronan golds, presumed
diverted from the Northern Guard treasury, and taken pending
further investigation."

"You… had better count them, sir."

The last thing Alucius wanted to do was to count the golds, but he
could see the overcaptain's point. "You're right. Lynat, you and I will
count them, and you will sign the receipt once we agree on the
numbers."

Lynat looked as if he wished to protest, but finally only nodded.

In the end, one chest contained exactly two hundred golds, the
other precisely one hundred sixty-one—the total an astounding
amount for a man who had not had a coin to his name six years
earlier, and whose highest monthly pay was but four golds.

Sanasus had also added several lines to the receipt, indicating that
the Guard had noted, but not taken, six rifles and six sabres, five
barrels of flour, two of rice, two of potatoes, and three of dried fruit,
and that the Guard had neither damaged nor removed any other
property or goods on the premises.

Alucius signed two copies of the receipt, as did Lynat, then left one
copy with Weslyn's son.

"I'll be sending lancers and a wagon to reclaim the barrels in the
cellar. Your father had the right to use them so long as he was
colonel, but they're not his property. They belong to the Guard."

"I understand that, Colonel." Lynat's words were cold. "You do
what you must."

"I will, but I deeply wish it had not been necessary."

Lynat said nothing.

Alucius nodded. "We'll not trouble you more, except for the
barrels."

The blond man offered the slightest nod, then watched as the two
officers and the lancers left.

"Now what do you think, Sanasus?" asked Alucius, as they rode
back eastward toward Guard headquarters.

"Worse than I feared, Colonel."

"We may have to use those golds, but we'll hold off, if we can, until
I get word from Marshal Frynkel and the Lord-Protector. Tomorrow,
you'll have to go back and reclaim the barrels of supplies. That's
too much to let go, but we didn't have a wagon today."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry. You can take a squad of lancers."

"You think the barrels will still be there?"

"If they're not, Lynat could be in as much trouble as his father."
Then, if matters turned sour, so could Alucius. Raiding a private
house to reclaim stolen property wasn't exactly the way to start out
as the new commander of the Northern Guard. But then, allowing
three hundred sixty-one golds to vanish from the accounts wouldn't
have been exactly to his credit. Either way, he had troubles.

"Oh… we'll need to get new locks for the strong rooms and put
these chests in there."

"Yes, sir."

No one spoke for the rest of the ride back to headquarters.
Overhead, the sky darkened, and flakes of snow began to fall.

Feran was waiting as Alucius dismounted. "What did you find?"

"Outside of six Northern Guard rifles and sabres, barrels of flour,
rice, potatoes, and dried fruit, all marked for the Guard, not much.
Except two chests with something like three hundred sixty golds,
two-thirds of them fresh-minted Lanachronan coins."

"That many? Seems stupid."

"They were in a hidden strong room in the cellar," Alucius added.

Feran nodded. "You have this way of finding hidden rooms and
passages."

Alucius started to shrug, but the pain in his arm stopped the
gesture almost before he started. "We do what we can."

The rest of the afternoon was a blur to Alucius. He and Feran
finished briefing the officers and had them tell their own lancers.
Then Alucius addressed all the lancers briefly, stressing not only
the irregularities noted by Marshal Frynkel, but that Alucius himself
had started as a militia scout and that his family still lived in Iron
Stem. After the address, they reworked the post watch schedules
and installed some of the more dependable lancers from Fifth
Company to take over Nadalt's duties. Then Alucius inspected the
entire post, yard by yard. Somewhere along the way, he ate some
cheese and travel bread.

It was well after sunset when Komur accompanied Alucius up to
the commander's post quarters.

"Hope you didn't mind, sir," Komur said as he opened the door to
the upper-level quarters, "but while you were organizing things, I
took the liberty of having my crew pack up Colonel Weslyn's few
things and clean up the quarters best we could on short notice.
Linens are clean, if spare." He lit the oil lamp in the front foyer.

Alucius walked from the small foyer into a large sitting room, with a
modest and ancient coal stove that radiated heat. Komur also lit a
lamp, one of a pair set on a side table. Off the sitting room to the
right was a study, with dark oak shelves built into the walls, and
even with books taking up perhaps half the shelf space. The wide
writing table was empty and was set so that it overlooked the side
courtyard. Alucius turned and crossed the sitting room to a large
dining room, with a table capable of seating ten to fifteen people.

Behind the dining room was the kitchen, and an alcove and a table
for more intimate meals. A large coal stove dominated the kitchen,
also radiating warmth, and Alucius was glad to see that there was a
rear pantry and an outside exit that led to a separate rear staircase.
He retraced his steps to the sitting room and the double doors that
led to a rear hall and one small bedroom, a bathing chamber with a
jakes, and a larger master bedchamber, a good five yards by eight.
The dark hangings were over the windows, leaving the chamber
gloomy, and although he could see well enough, he lit a wall lamp
for the warmth of the illumination.

The windows all had inside shutters, as well as deep blue hangings
that could be untied and allowed to cover shutters and windows.
The floors were polished dark oak, covered with large carpets of
what looked to be a Dramurian design, with intricate interweavings
of geometric patterns. Sections of the carpets in the bedchamber,
the sitting room, and the dining room had worn places, and there
were a few ancient spots and frayed edges.

Still… the quarters, with some more cleaning, were most livable
and far better than any officers' quarters where Alucius had been
permanently stationed. While compared to Alucius's stead house,
the quarters were small, but they were not cramped.

As Nadalt had told Alucius, Weslyn hadn't used the commandant's
quarters much. That was also clear from the fact that Komur had
been able to remove Weslyn's possessions so quickly.

"These seem quite livable," Alucius said to the undercaptain. "I
appreciate your efforts, especially under the circumstances." He
winced as he realized that he'd used Alyniat's phrase, the one that
had grated on him.

"Begging your pardon, Colonel, but I'd a scrubbed the floors on my
own knees to get back a fighting commander."

Alucius smiled. "I know something about fighting. I fear that I'll
need your help in other matters. I've had but a short stint running a
small outpost and some experience running a stead, but nothing
like running a headquarters post."

"That's what we're here for, sir."

"Good." Alucius offered a gentle laugh. "I'll need all your expertise
and advice." He paused. "Thank you again."

"Glad to be of service, sir. Now, tomorrow, we'll be making sure
that everything here works as it should…"

"The quarters are fine for now. I'm more concerned about the post,
especially if there were recommendations you made that were not
taken."

"There were a few." Komur smiled crookedly. "Some of them we
managed anyway."

"We'll talk tomorrow about the others," Alucius promised.

"Yes, sir."

Komur had barely left and closed the door when there was a
knock.

Alucius could sense Feran. "Come on in."

The older officer stepped inside and glanced around. "Nice
quarters. I've never been up here before."

"Neither had I," Alucius admitted. "You'll pardon me if I sit down."
He tried several chairs, finally settling on an overstuffed armchair
that looked uncomfortable—and wasn't.

Feran sat across from him in a straight-backed chair.

"What have you found out so far?" Alucius asked.

"Shalgyr kept the ledgers, and he left them. He was probably
running for his life."

"I wouldn't have executed him," Alucius said.

"I know that. So did Shalgyr, probably, but he left anyway," Feran
said.

"So… the mess is worse than we thought, and there's someone
else involved," mused Alucius. After a moment, he laughed. "I'm
tired. Of course, there had to be someone else involved, and it has
to be one of the factors or traders. Or several. Finding out who
won't be hard. Neither will proving that Weslyn was corrupt. But I'd
wager that there won't be anything in the post that points directly at
anyone but Shalgyr and Weslyn, and that Shalgyr is either in
Lanachrona or already dead."

"He was smart enough to run and not try for the stables. Seven will
get you ten that he's across the river and moving south."

"We're going to have to review all the supply accounts, all the pay
accounts… just about everything. And count what's in the strong
room and certify it," Alucius said. "That's just the beginning. I need
to have personal talks with those three—Komur, Sanasus, and
Yusalt—but I wanted to read their files first."

"Komur and Sanasus seem solid enough. Yusalt doesn't know
much."

"I know. That bothers me," Alucius held back a yawn. "But before I
do that, we'll have to send dispatches to all posts, notifying them,
and also saying that Shalgyr is a fugitive."

"I told you that being commander wouldn't be what anyone
thought," Feran said. "You'd better use that Talent to keep looking
over your shoulder—and everywhere else."

"Now look who's being the cheerful one."

"I'm just telling you what I see." Feran's laugh was rueful.

"You're right." Alucius stifled a yawn. "I'm not thinking that well. I
need to get some sleep." If he could.

After Feran left, Alucius unpacked his gear and washed out his
dirty undergarments and uniforms. He managed to find a dusty
washtub and was thankful that there was a pump in the kitchen.
Only after that did he settle himself down at the writing desk in the
study off the sitting room and begin to write Wendra.

Dearest,

I am at last back in the Iron Valleys and find myself as colonel and
commander of the Northern Guard. I fear matters here in Dekhron
are far worse than any of us had thought. The colonel and his
deputy are dead. They tried to shoot me when I presented the
Lord-Protector's dispatch accepting Colonel Weslyn's resignation.

Their reaction leaves me with some considerable concern about
what I will discover in the days ahead.

While I would most dearly love to ride to Iron Stem to see you and
Alendra, under the current circumstances, leaving Dekhron until
these matters are resolved is not possible. Nor would it be wise,
either for the Guard or for me. I am going to need all the insight
and assistance I can garner, and yet I dare not leave Dekhron. Not
until matters are far more settled, at the least. Do you think that
your grandsire would be willing to ride here and offer me his
insights? I would also love to have yours, but not at the expense of
Alendra and the stead.

I will write more soon, but know that you are always in my heart and
in my thoughts…

He signed the letter and sealed it, then stood. He did need sleep,
and the days ahead would be long indeed.
Chapter 107

By just before noon on Quattri, Alucius had sent off his interim
report to Marshal Frynkel and the Lord-Protector, which included
the results of the search of Colonel Weslyn's dwelling. Then he
dictated, revised, and signed the last dispatches for the last
Northern Guard outposts—those at Eastice and Klamat. Sanasus
took them off to the waiting dispatch rider. Each dispatch had
contained the identical summary of the Lord-Protector's concerns,
a short summary of the previous day's events, including the
discovery of significant supplies and golds from Northern Guard
accounts found in Colonel Weslyn's dwelling, and a message from
Alucius affirming his support for the long-standing traditions of the
Guard and his pledge to follow the shining examples of such past
commanders as Colonel Clyon. He dared not promise more than
that until he understood the situation far better. With the copy of the
interim report to Marshal Frynkel, he'd sent a note with the promise
to report more as he discovered the details of what Weslyn had
been concealing.

He did wish that he could have written the dispatches in his own
hand, but by the time he had just signed the last dispatch, his
fingers were numb, not because there had been so many, but
because of the swelling in his upper arm. No sooner had he been
able to take the brace off one arm than the other was injured, if not
so severely. He stood from behind the desk that had been
Weslyn's, and Clyon's before Weslyn. Alucius was determined to
remember the study and the furnishings as Clyon's. He looked
down at the desk and the four officers' files there—those of
Sanasus, Komur, Yusalt, and Shalgyr.

"What do you intend now?" asked Feran.

"I need to meet with the officers. I'll start with Yusalt. Could
someone find him?"

"I think we can manage that." Feran stepped out of the study.

Alucius picked up the officer's file on top—Yusalt's—and began to
read, ignoring the whistle of the wind and the cold air seeping
through the window. Flakes of snow swirled in the courtyard
outside, adding to the light dusting Dekhron had received the
evening before.

Yusalt came from Fiente, a town on the north side of the River
Vedra roughly two-thirds of the way to Emal from Dekhron. He
hadn't served at all as a conscript or as a regular lancer, but had
been placed with Fifteenth Company as an undercaptain for two
years, then spent another year as an undercaptain with Sixth
Company.

Alucius frowned. He couldn't say that he recalled Yusalt when Sixth
Company had been at Pyret trying to fend off the first Matrite
invasion of the Iron Valleys. A year and a half ago, Yusalt had been
promoted to captain and been given command of Seventh
Company when it had been rotated off duty at Soulend, and he'd
been at Dekhron ever since with Seventh Company. Fiente?
Alucius had his own ideas, but he'd have to see if he were jumping
to unwarranted conclusions. He continued to read through the
single line reports on the captain, entries that noted very little
except Yusalt's presence and submissions of his own reports.

Before long, Yusalt appeared at the door to the study. He
stiffened. "Sir? You requested my presence?"

"I did. Come on in and sit down." Alucius settled into the wooden
chair behind the desk. He waited until the junior officer seated
himself, then studied him for a time. There was no sign of ifrit
presence. "You're from Fiente, I see. Your family has been there a
long time, I take it?"

"Yes, sir." Yusalt looked at Alucius only briefly.

"What do they do?"

"Ah… well, my father has the seed-oil works."

Alucius kept his nod to himself. That explained a great deal. "Do
you have any brothers?"

"Yes, sir. Four."

"You're one of the younger ones."

"The youngest, sir."

"Did any of the others serve in the militia or the Guard?"

"Yes, sir. Aluard, he's the next to oldest. He was a conscript about
ten years ago, when Clyon was the commander. He does some
growing these days and helps with the oil works."

"Tell me what you recall about the fights around Pyret when you
were with Sixth Company."

A brief expression of confusion crossed Yusalt's face. "Ah, yes,
sir. That was a number of years ago…"

Alucius waited without speaking.

"We were ordered up there. I was the undercaptain. Captain
Tregar was in charge. Majer Dysar headed the whole militia force.
We were all crowded into this holding in Pyret. It snowed all the
time. I remember that. The Matrites had this spear-thrower, and it
just cut people down… like they were overripe oilseeds. I guess
that was how they pushed the other companies out of Soulend and
farther south. We had this big assault on their camp, except it had
been a militia outpost, and we lost a lot of lancers. But we were
lucky. When it was all over, their spear-thrower had exploded.
Some of the lancers said there were Sanders there, but I never
saw any. That could have been because I was on road duty,
making sure the Matrites didn't have reinforcements coming in
from the west. After that… well, it got colder and snowed more,
and they didn't do so well in the cold, and we pushed them back to
the edge of the Westerhills before winter ended." Yusalt shrugged.
"Then it got warmer, and the Matrial sent more lancers. That was
when Captain Tregar got it, and Captain Cavalat took over. They
pushed us back to Soulend, and nothing much changed for almost
a year. We fought some, but not a lot, and then they pulled back.
That was when everyone thought the Matrial died. But no one knew
for certain."

"Didn't Majer Dysar have family or friends near Fiente?" That was a
guess on Alucius's part.

"Yes, sir. Both he and Colonel Weslyn visited my family several
times. They knew some of the larger growers, too, like Dhafitt and
Guiral."

"What did Sixth Company do after the Matrites pulled back?"

"We moved west to the border post—that was the old stead just
short of the Westerhills—and we ran patrols through the hills and
along the high road. We never saw any Matrites then, though."

"After you served with Sixth Company, you were promoted to
captain and took over Seventh Company. How did that happen?"

"I can't say that I know. It was after Colonel Weslyn—except he
was a majer then—became the deputy, and I remember that he
signed the orders."

"Then you knew Colonel Weslyn fairly well."

"No, sir. I only met him a few times before he became deputy
commander. I'd have to say that he was a friend of the family, but it
was more business. He was a buyer for one of the old
factors—Ostar, I think—and then maybe Halanat, except I think he
doesn't run the factoring anymore. Anyway, we sold oil through the
factors. Still do, but I don't have anything to do with that."

Alucius nodded. From what he could tell, and what his Talent
reinforced, Yusalt was exactly what he seemed—a not-too-bright
younger son who'd been placed at headquarters for exactly that
reason—and to placate or do a favor for his father. "Thank you,
Captain. I appreciate your forthrightness." Alucius stood. "Just
carry on with your duties for now. We'll probably be making some
changes, but I'll let you know."

Caught off guard, Yusalt belatedly rose. "Ah… yes, sir. Thank you,
sir." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Ah… can I…
I mean, what can I say… about Colonel Weslyn?"

"I'd tell the truth. Right now, all we really know is that the Lord-
Protector wanted to replace Colonel Weslyn, and Colonel Weslyn
had some golds and goods that belonged to the Guard in his
dwelling, and he tried to kill his replacement. Why? That's a good
question. That would suggest that there was something wrong that
he didn't want known, but at this moment, we don't have all the
answers." Alucius offered a wry smile. "As soon as we know, I'll let
you know. There's no harm in saying that Overcaptain Feran and I
were sent to take over and find out what was wrong, and that both
the Lord-Protector and Marshal Frynkel were well aware that there
were problems here."

"Yes, sir."

"You have my leave, Captain."

"Oh, yes, sir." Yusalt bowed and hurried out of the study.

Alucius managed a quick reading of Overcaptain Sanasus's file
before the graying overcaptain in charge of communications and
logistics appeared.

Sanasus sat down, forward on the edge of the wooden chair,
pursing and pursing his lips, waiting.

"I'd be interested to know, Sanasus, if you ever saw the ledgers for
the supplies."

"No, sir. Not after Colonel Weslyn took over. He said he was
reorganizing things, and he put all the disbursements and payroll
receipts under Shalgyr. Brought him in from Fiente. Never served
before. Made him a captain right off, then last summer, promoted
him to overcaptain. Wasn't right, I said, but the colonel said that
times were changing and that the Lord-Protector wanted logistics
and disbursements separate. Wasn't much I could say to that.
Especially not with but a few years before I could get a stipend.
This golds business in his house… I never knew. I thought maybe
he was taking a few… but not hundreds."

Alucius could sense the absolute truth behind the overcaptain's
words, and that was both a relief and a worry. "I think that, once we
go over the ledgers, you'll have to take over both functions once
more. I doubt if there's anyone else in headquarters who knows
what's required."

"What about the Lord-Protector's requirement?"

"So far as I can tell, there never was such a requirement. Even if
there happened to be one, my orders and mandate allow me to
change any procedures that are not working. I don't know
everything that happened, but the golds, and Colonel Weslyn's
reaction and Overcaptain Shalgyr's flight, suggest that things are
not as they should be."

"No, sir. Couldn't prove it back then, but I felt we were paying too
much for supplies. Then there's the payroll. The colonel
decommissioned those two companies, but we were still getting
the same payroll from Tempre, and no one's pay that I know of
was increased."

Alucius cleared his throat gently. He'd spent more time talking in
the last day than he did in weeks on the stead. Or in several days
as a majer in charge of a few companies. "You can advise me on
how you think the ledgers and accounts should be set up so that
any irregularities can be quickly and easily caught."

"I can do that. That was the way Colonel Clyon had it, sir. Fine
officer, and a better man."

"He was."

"You'd best be real careful, sir. Leastwise, until you get everything
out in the open. I don't know who they are, not for sure, but there'll
be more than a few in Dekhron who won't want the Lord-Protector
to know."

"That's one reason why we already sent out an interim report."

"Might not be a bad idea to let folks know that."

Alucius smiled. "I can't say much about that, but I certainly wouldn't
complain if that word got out."

"I can see that, sir, and, well, it just might." Sanasus offered a grin,
the first warm expression on his gaunt and grizzled face.

When the overcaptain finally left, Alucius turned to the window. The
snow had stopped, leaving a fine dusting on the roofs of the
compound and on the courtyard itself. Then he turned back and
picked up the file on Komur.

After he met with the undercaptain, he needed to get Feran and
Sanasus together and undertake a count of what was left in the
existing pay chests in the strong room, then have Sanasus develop
and provide him with a budget for at least the next few months. He
also needed to see if the accounts and ledgers provided any clues
as to exactly what Weslyn had been doing to amass all those
golds.

He still needed to read all the recent reports from company and
outpost commanders, and to update himself on where all the
current companies were stationed and what the command
structure was. For some of that, he could read at night, and he
would have to—for longer and later than he'd ever imagined.
Chapter 108
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

Tarolt looked up as the door to his study opened, and a round-
faced trader in a heavy dark blue winter cloak marched in, halting a
mere yard from the desk.

"You look rather… disturbed, Halanat."

"You said everything would be fine." Halanat glared at the white-
haired Tarolt. "You said that he'd fail or get killed in the revolt, or by
that spear-thrower. He didn't. Now he's here, and the whole city
knows—"

"He's only just taken command—and, as I recall, the initial idea of
having him recalled to duty was yours."

"You aren't the one that they'll be looking for."

"Oh… and just what will Colonel Alucius do? He has no power over
anyone who is not in the Northern Guard. He cannot touch you.
There's no proof of anything, except Weslyn's stupidity. Stupidity
on two counts. One never draws a weapon on a warrior. It's far
better to have someone else do it. Or push him into a situation
where he cannot win or where he kills the wrong person. One also
should never underestimate an honest man. Especially an honest
Talent-steer."

"That's easy for you to say. Word is already all over Dekhron that
Weslyn was lining his own pockets and that others might be
involved. This… Colonel Alucius even found a chest with three
hundred golds in the strong room in Weslyn's house. How could he
have been so stupid? Where does that leave us?"

"What you do is have Halsant send a letter to the new colonel,
welcoming him and promising him the greatest cooperation in
providing goods at the lowest fair price, and suggesting that the
colonel's reputation for honesty and directness will serve him well."

"Within weeks, he'll see right through that."

"He may do so within glasses or days. What can he do? Call
Halsant a liar? The colonel is direct, but far from stupid. He will not
do anything that is public and direct without proof. If we do not
provide it, he can suspect all he wishes, but he cannot act, except
to insist on better prices, and that should not be a problem, not for
the short time he will be colonel."

"Weslyn would take great comfort in your words."

"You're not Weslyn, and you're not in the Northern Guard. Every
trader and factor, and even the larger crafters, will be watching this
Alucius. He's too young. He's arrogant, and he's a nightsheep
herder. None of those traits will endear him to those who must
supply him and who are tariffed by the Lord-Protector to support
him and the Northern Guard. His high-handed search of Weslyn's
house will be the first of many actions that will cause him trouble."

"He can do much damage in a short time."

"That's to our gain. Already, people in Hyalt are beginning to
murmur that the True Duarchy doesn't sound so bad considering
the problems they have now. The same is true in Southgate and
Zalt, and Dimor and even Arwyn. If our new colonel drives a hard
bargain for supplies, that will increase the anger and unrest. If he
does not, he will lose favor in Tempre, because the Lord-Protector
is hard-pressed to find coins for his wars."

"And then what?"

"We wait for him to make a mistake. Young and brilliant officers
always do. That is their greatest failing, and one that is inevitable.
One cannot gain wisdom except by making mistakes. Young and
brilliant officers get promoted too quickly and before they can
make those mistakes where the consequences are not so great."

"Just what mistake will he make? "

"What particular mistake?" Tarolt smiled. "I have no idea, but it will
be one that lies in his failure to understand that brilliance and skill
do not address every problem. Sometimes, there is no substitute
for subtlety and treachery." Tarolt paused. "Did you have
something else?"

"Something else…?" Halanat stood speechless for a moment.
"Something else?"

"If not, you should return to your own dwelling and consider how
best to make the new colonel look unbending and unsympathetic
to the needs of the oppressed traders and factors of Dekhron."

Halanat's eyes lifted to the purpled orbs of the white-haired trader,
then dropped. "Ah, yes, sir."
Chapter 109

On Quinti, Alucius and Feran spent much of the day just digging
out information and supervising the assembly of records from
various places. Weslyn had clearly tried to keep information as
fragmented as possible so that he was the only one who had
access to everything. Again, that was just another indication that far
more was wrong than Alucius had yet seen, but there was so much
information that Alucius had decided to set that aside for a time
and get back to assessing the state of the Northern Guard as a
fighting organization and determining what he could do
immediately.

By Sexdi morning, Alucius and Feran were in the commander's
study trying to sort out the strategic situation from dispatches and
maps, outdated as they might be. Alucius could only hope that he'd
get updated reports from Majer Lujat in the west. His dispatch to
Lujat had offered his full support and his admiration for Lujat's
effectiveness under difficult conditions.

Alucius looked to Feran. "No wonder Majer Lujat is barely able to
hold any positions. Half of the officers are captains that Weslyn
appointed over the past three years. None of them had any real
experience. "

"I told you that," Feran said.

"You did. That was before I knew I'd have to fix the problem."

"Makes a difference, doesn't it, most honored Colonel?"

"Yes, it does, most honored about-to-be Majer."

"I haven't said yes."

"I won't take 'no.'" Alucius took a long deep breath. "Do you know
any of the senior squad leaders of those companies?"

"Some of them."

"We can make Egyl a captain, if you think he can handle it, and if
he'll accept it," Alucius said. "Give him Seventh Company here,
and, in a week or so, send them to Sudon for training before
posting them somewhere west."

"Egyl would be a good captain," Feran agreed. "Faisyn could
handle senior squad leader of Fifth Company for a while, and they
could train out of here. Wait a few months and make him captain,
and move Zerdial up to senior squad leader."

"More like a few weeks for Faisyn. We don't have much time.
That's two companies. That leaves sixteen, eighteen when we re-
form the Nineteenth and Twentieth."

"You've got a couple of decent captains. Koryt still has the Third.
And Cavalat with the Sixth."

"What ever happened to Vanas?"

"Matrites got him early on in that first campaign. Dysar sent the
Thirteenth against three Matrite companies."

Alucius looked at the Thirteenth Company roster. "Zaracar's the
captain now." He went through the stack of officers' files, not all
that many, and quickly leafed through Zaracar's file. "He's another
one that Weslyn appointed—just last year. He's from here in
Dekhron." Alucius wrote down the name and the company number
on the tally he was keeping.

"Haven't heard of him."

"Is Estepp still around?" Alucius frowned, then answered his own
question. "I thought I saw his name somewhere. The training
company at Sudon, maybe?" He went through the rosters. "Yes. I
thought so. He's still a senior squad leader. He should have been
made a captain years ago."

"Maybe he didn't want to be."

"And maybe Weslyn needed someone to train lancers…"

"Good lancers, but captains who aren't that bright?" suggested
Feran.

"That's what it's looking like, isn't it?"

"What about Overcaptain Culyn?"

"He's not on any of the rosters, and there's no file on him. The
head of training at Sudon is Overcaptain Dezyn." Alucius paused.
"I remember him. He was here at Dekhron when we came back."

"Oh… the blond captain. He was like Yusalt—didn't seem to know
that much."

Feran and Alucius exchanged glances.

"Maybe we should promote Estepp to captain and leave him in
charge of training for a while," suggested Alucius.

"That might be better. He knows what he's doing. With the Regent
still in power in Madrien, we're going to need more and better
lancers."

"We aren't going to get that many more," Alucius pointed out.
"Let's hope Estepp can keep giving us better ones. And some
more foot troopers. Weslyn pared down the foot to just three
companies, and they're all split into squads for basic
stationkeeping at the outposts."

"They're useless that way." Feran snorted. "Like a lot of those
captains. It probably took Yusalt years to figure out which end of a
rifle to use."

"He's a nice young man who has no business being in the Guard."
Alucius had originally thought that Weslyn had just been trying to
squeeze all the coin he could from the Guard, but now he was
getting a far darker impression, and one that suggested to him that
Weslyn had been used, either as a tool or directly, by the ifrits to
weaken, if not to gut, the Northern Guard. But that wasn't something
he could say, not about the ifrits. "It's almost as if he were trying to
destroy the Guard."

Feran nodded. "It looks that way. Do you think that the traders were
paying him off?"

"There's not much doubt about that. It might be hard to prove, and
we don't know why." Even if the ifrits did want to weaken the Guard,
why would they want the Matrites running all over Dekhron? "It
doesn't make sense for them to weaken the Guard so much that
the Matrites would take over the Iron Valleys and Dekhron."

"Maybe they don't want either side to win," Feran suggested. "So
long as the fighting goes on, no one will be looking at how they
operate."

"That does make sense." In more than one way, Alucius realized.
"But we can't let them keep doing it."

"Stopping them will be hard. You're just the Guard commander.
You've got your hands full fixing the mess Weslyn left you."

Alucius grinned. "What do you mean by putting it on me? We have
our hands full."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that, most honored Colonel."
Feran shook his head.

"I think the next item is your promotion. You're getting the grief; you
should get the coins."

Feran snorted. "They're not enough."

"They never are. Now… about that promotion…"
Chapter 110

In midafternoon on Septi, Dhaget rapped on the doorframe to
Alucius's study. Alucius looked up from the draft of the Northern
Guard reorganization plan he and Feran had worked out. "Yes?"

"This just came, sir," said Dhaget, extending an envelope.

"Thank you." Alucius took the envelope and opened it.

Dhaget slipped back out of the study.

The envelope held a formal dispatch, with a small square of paper
folded inside the dispatch. Alucius read the short dispatch.

Colonel Alucius—

In Captain Dezyn's absence, I am reporting that the training
company at Sudon has been informed of the change of command
in the Northern Guard. I have informed all squad leaders and
trainee lancers, and we await any orders that may be forthcoming.

The signature was that of Estepp.

Alucius nodded and unfolded the second sheet. It had but a few
words and no signature.

We're behind you. Take care of this group of brigands like you did
the last.

His smile was rueful. Those words were the Estepp he recalled,
but the formal dispatch was all that Captain Dezyn would see. Of
that, Alucius was certain. He was also certain of the message that
Estepp was sending. He pocketed the second and unsigned note.
Feran would certainly want to see it.

He glanced out the window at gray skies that seemed to be lifting.
He hoped so. Then he went back to the plan on his desk. The plan
itself wasn't that complex, but figuring out which transfers to make
in what order and what officers' resignations to ask for first were
still things he needed to work out. He had decided that he wanted
to complete the reorganization in two steps. He'd thought about
doing it all at once, but Feran had pointed out that having more than
half the companies without captains or captains in transit at one
time was likely to be too unsettling.

Then, too, he still had to deal with the logistics problems. Although
Sanasus had implemented a new set of ledgers, reconciling the
accounts was going to take days, if not weeks.

Another knock on the door interrupted his concentration, and he
looked up.

"Sir… there are some folks to see you." Fewal was grinning as he
stood in the door. "I thought you'd want to know. They've come a
fair piece."

Alucius could see a feminine figure, holding an infant, and an older
man. He scrambled to his feet and through the doorway past
Fewal, who was still smiling broadly. For a long time, how long he
couldn't even tell, Alucius held Wendra and his daughter. He could
sense how three lifethreads almost intertwined in a swirl of green.
His eyes blurred, and she reached up and brushed away the tears.

"I'm so glad you're here," he murmured in her ear.

"I'm so glad you're safe."

Kustyl cleared his throat.

Alucius flushed as he released his wife. Tears streaked her
cheeks as well as his. Alendra merely gurgled.

"Couldn't tell that the man missed you or anything," Kustyl
observed.

Wendra said, her voice low, "Do you have quarters here? Grandpa
Kustyl said you did. I can go up there and feed Alendra. You need
to talk to Grandpa. He says it's important."

Alucius nodded. "Fewal… if you could escort my wife to the
quarters…"

"Yes, sir. I'd be pleased to."

Alucius and Wendra exchanged smiles before she stepped back,
and Alucius nodded to the older herder. "I understand you have
some information for me."

"That I do, Colonel. That I do." Kustyl's eyes twinkled, and there
was the slightest emphasis on the word "colonel."

Alucius watched for a moment as Wendra left, then stepped into
his study. Kustyl followed and closed the door. Alucius gestured to
one of the chairs.

"Hope you don't mind if I stand, Alucius, but it's been a long ride,
and I'm not so young as I used to be."

The younger man laughed. "Not if you don't mind if I sit. I'm still
sore in places." He eased into the chair behind the desk.

"Wendra didn't say, but you were hurt pretty bad, weren't you?"
Kustyl's eyes narrowed.

"I didn't tell her in my letters. Feran said no one thought I'd live."

"And you're walking around now."

"Nightsilk helps."

"Some." Kustyl smiled. "She brought you new sets of nightsilk
undergarments. And a new vest. Said even nightsilk couldn't keep
taking the beating you gave it." He studied Alucius. "You almost
look old enough for this job. Gray hair helps." Then he smiled.
"Anyone any younger, the troubles'd kill'em."

"What can you tell me?" asked Alucius.

"Might help if I knew what you know and what you need to know."

"Here's the problem. I'm sure that Weslyn was lining his own
pockets, entering higher charges for goods and pocketing the
difference. We found three hundred sixty golds in his cellar, mostly
the kind that are sent from Tempre—"

"Three hundred sixty? The sandsnake skimmed off that much?"

"I can't yet link the amounts, but that's what it looks like. He also
replaced any officers who might question him with captains who
seemed to be the younger sons of factors and merchants who
sold goods to the Guard. Oh… and he also disbanded the
Nineteenth and Twentieth Companies, and I think he pocketed that
payroll, but I don't know. I haven't had a chance to go over all the
ledgers in any depth. We've been working on letting everyone
know about the change in command and that Weslyn tried to kill
me." He pointed to the chart on the desk. "Feran and I have been
trying to work out which officers to remove, and what senior squad
leaders we can promote to captain or undercaptain to take over.
We've just about got that figured out, not just who but how and in
what order so that we can get someone who's good in charge in
the important posts as quickly as we can."

"Your grandsire always thought you'd be good at this. Your mother
made him promise not to tell you." Kustyl coughed. "You've figured
out what Royalt and I suspected was going on, but there are some
things that you ought to know. First off, all the old traders that
backed Dysar, then Weslyn, are dead. Except for two. One's
Halanat, and the other's Tarolt. No one sees Tarolt much at all. He
doesn't trade or factor anymore, and all his business is handled by
Halanat's outfit. No one sees Halanat much, either. His son, young
fellow by the name of Halsant, is the one who does all the
factoring, and he's the head of this new Traders' Council. Probably
the youngest of them all, but he's still in charge. He's not much
older than you are, maybe thirty, but they all do what he wants. Has
to be because Halanat and Tarolt are behind him. Don't know why
everyone backs off 'em, but they do."

Alucius nodded. "There has to be some connection with Weslyn."

"Oh… everyone knows they were friends. Ate together, even over
at the Red Ram. Weslyn was the friendly type, met and ate with
most of the big factors. Already… some of them are saying that
you were sent back to break up their trading combine so that the
factors from Tempre and Borlan can move in."

Alucius snorted. "From what I've seen, the southerners can't even
handle trading in their own land—in lower Lanachrona, I mean.
Those that can are more worried about what's happening in
Deforya and in Southgate."

"Doesn't matter what's really happening, Alucius. You have to deal
with what the traders in Dekhron think."

"I know. So what do I do? I'd thought about meeting with them and
telling them exactly what happened." Alucius gave a twisted smile.
"One problem is that I haven't figured it all out yet."

"Set up a meeting now, but for a week away or so. That way, they'll
hold off saying their worst. They'll still talk, but they'll want to know
what you have to say before they act."

"That makes sense. What do you think they'll try to do?"

"I don't know. Not for sure. Some of 'em have to be thinking about
paying brigands or some of the old-time Reillies to take you out."

"That's a comforting thought. And if I get rid of them, I'll be a
highhanded butcher sent by the Lord-Protector."

"After what you did in Hyalt, they're already saying that."

"How do they know what I did in Hyalt?"

"I don't know, but word's out that you butchered thousands of men
and turned the city and the trade over to the women."

"The prophet had used Talent to enslave maybe a thousand men
into his forces. They kept attacking us, and when they did, we killed
them. I'd judge that we killed something like eight hundred. No
more than a thousand. We had to turn the city… well… it's really
only a big town… we had to turn it over to the women. The men
who were left were either ten years older than you or not quite right
in the head from what they'd been through."

"Doesn't matter."

Alucius sighed. "I know. Are my choices to try to do what's right
and try to survive assassination attempt after attempt, or will I have
to wipe out all the factors here in order to have a chance to keep
the Iron Valleys from being taken over by the Regent of the
Matrial?"

"Regent?"

"She's the one who took over in Hieron. From what I've seen of
their lancers, she's even worse than the Matrial was. They've got
those torques working again. We did get rid of their crystal spear-
throwers, and the Lord-Protector has pushed them back north for
now. If I can get the Guard reorganized, we might be able to keep
them in check in the north as well."

"In check?"

"With half the captains hardly competent, and without the
Nineteenth and Twentieth Companies, I'll be fortunate to do that.
Dezyn doesn't know much about training—do you know what
happened to Overcaptain Culyn?"

"There was talk about it, say a year and a half ago. They found him
dead in the quarters here. Not a mark on him. Figured his heart just
stopped."

Why hadn't Alucius heard that? Or had he been so relieved not to
be in the Guard then that he just hadn't paid attention?

"You don't think it was that, I take it?" asked Kustyl.

"Looking back… no. No more than Clyon died of the flux."

"You got your hands full." Kustyl shook his head. "Every herder's
behind you, but there aren't many of us left."

"You have any more suggestions for me?"

"Don't enter any narrow ways and never leave your back bare. And
if you've got any ways to have folks die of flux or in their sleep,
Halanat and Tarolt wouldn't be bad places to start." The older
herder shrugged. "And don't wait very long. They won't. That's for
certain." The lanky gray herder looked toward the closed door.
"That'd be all I've got right now. Except to spend some time with
that wife of yours."

"I don't need a reminder for that." Alucius smiled as he rose. "You'll
let me know if you hear anything else?"

"That I will. Be talking to a few folks I can trust here in Dekhron. Not
that many, anymore, but I'll stop by tomorrow."

"Do you have somewhere to stay? We could—"

Kustyl shook his head. "Be staying with Renzor—Mairee's cousin's
boy. Works better that way."

"Thank you." Alucius opened the study door for Wendra's
grandsire.

After Kustyl left, Alucius took another look at the charts and
planned company rosters, but his eyes wouldn't focus on the
names or the descriptions. He shook his head and walked back out
of the study.

"Sir?" Dhaget looked up from the table where he was sorting
lancer files into piles by company.

"If Overcaptain Feran comes back, tell him that my wife just
arrived, and that I'm up in my quarters getting her settled in."

"Yes, sir." Dhaget kept the smile off his face, but not totally out of
his voice and eyes.

Alucius did not run up the steps to the commander's quarters, but
neither was his progress sedate. He found Wendra on the large
bed in the main bedchamber, propped up with pillows and feeding
Alendra.

After a moment, he eased onto the bed behind her shoulder, then
kissed her neck.

She turned her head, and their lips met.

After several very long moments, Wendra eased her head back
and readjusted Alendra. "You don't have to act as though every
moment will be the last," she said with a grin. "I'll be here for
several days, maybe longer." The grin turned to a frown. "How did
you get that scar?"

"That was from the prophet."

"You didn't mention that."

"It didn't seem important." He paused, almost afraid to ask the next
question, with his desire to have her in Dekhron for more than an
afternoon or a day. "What about the stead?" He kissed her neck
again.

"It will do without me for a few days. While I've been with Alendra…
your grandsire… he had to take the flock." Wendra shifted Alendra
into the crook of her left arm and switched the infant around,
readjusting her clothing to let her daughter nurse on her other
breast.

"Did he… have trouble?"

"No. He never saw those creatures. Alucius… they're attracted just
to you and me. It has to be. Have they ever appeared anywhere
besides where one of us is?"

"There were the pteridons of Aellyan Edyss… but, as for the wild
ones…no."

"Why are they attracted to us? Because we show more Talent?"
asked Wendra, readjusting Alendra in her arm again.

Alendra began to suckle in earnest.

Wendra winced slightly. "She's strong, and she's a little piglet. She
must take after you."

"Me?"

"You," she said firmly. "Now… why do those things show up when
we're around?"

"That we have Talent might be part of it, but it can't be all of it. They
have to be coming from somewhere, and that has to be from
wherever the ifrits are coming from."

"Where is that? Is it truly another world, as you said?"

"It must be. There's nothing that looks like those creatures
anywhere in Corus, and there never has been, except in the days
of the old Duarchy." He paused. "Except maybe the ones that look
like black dust-cats." He shook his head. "It's like nothing quite fits.
But the soarers said the ifrits were from another world, and so far,
what the soarers have said… it's been so." Alucius bent forward
and kissed her neck, easing one arm around her.

"Later… dear man. Later. When not every lancer is speculating on
what we're doing, and when Alendra is asleep. I've missed you,
and I'd like to have some time to enjoy being with you." She turned
her head.

Alucius enjoyed the kiss—enormously—even knowing that he
would have to return to charts and rosters and other matters. But
only for a time, and only until later.
Chapter 111
Hieron, Madrien

The Regent rose from the wooden armchair set behind the
conference table and took several steps toward the north wall of
the private study that had once been that of the Matrial. She
stopped short of the built-in shelves, filled with ancient tomes that
covered the entire wall, shelf upon shelf, running from the floor to
the four-yard-high ceiling. A small walnut book ladder rested in the
middle of the shelves, a single volume balanced on the third step.

For a time, she looked at the volumes, unspeaking.

Then she turned from the volumes on the shelves and walked back
to the conference table, where she reseated herself. Her violet
eyes fixed upon the marshal in a purple and green uniform tunic on
the other side of the circular conference table. "Have the engineers
made any progress with the drawings I supplied?"

"They have yet to discover how to duplicate the crystals necessary
for energy storage," admitted the marshal.

"Then they scarcely deserve the title of engineers."

"They have begun to grow the crystals that focus and create the
spears. The storage crystals are harder. They are much more
complex than those for light-torches, and you know how long it has
taken and how hard it has been to create those. Even the…" The
marshal broke off.

"Even the Matrial, you were about to say?"

"Yes, Regent."

The Regent offered a cold smile. "I suppose that is fair. She did
have more experience than I have at present."

"Do you know how the Matrial became… the Matrial?"

"Changing the subject, are you, Aluyn?"

"Yes, Regent." Aluyn's voice carried a rueful tone. "It seemed
wiser."

A sharp laugh was the Regent's reply. "You are honest. I've always
admired that."

Aluyn waited.

"I suppose it cannot hurt to tell what I know," admitted the Regent.
"There were a few notes that I found. She was not from Madrien.
She was born in Aelta."

"She was Deforyan?"

"She was a pleasure girl in the palace of the Landarch, if what she
wrote was correct, and then she cut her hair and became a lancer
in the time of troubles with the nomads—the old troubles, four
centuries ago. She was proficient enough with rifle and blade to
survive. Then… according to the notes, she discovered her destiny
and brought it with her as she made her way westward…"

"Discovered her destiny," mused the marshal, "and brought it with
her. Almost as if it were something she held in her hands."

"I'm sure that she thought of it in that fashion," replied the Regent.
"At times, destiny can indeed have a tangible form."

"A tangible destiny? And is that destiny now yours, Regent? Will
you soon be the next Matrial?"

"There has been but one Matrial, and that is all that there ever will
be." The pale-faced, violet-eyed, and dark-haired Regent smiled
enigmatically. "We shall leave it at that, and you will offer great
encouragement to the engineers—if they wish to remain
engineers."

"Yes, Regent." Aluyn offered a discreet head bow. "I will do so."

"You may go."

Only when the marshal had departed both the study and the
Regent's private quarters did the Regent stand. She left the study,
then crossed the main sitting room and stepped through the
arches and out into the enclosed garden.

The Regent glanced at the row of daisies, green and seasons
from flowering, before turning to light upon the miniature redflower
tree in the northwest corner. Her violet eyes darkened.

Abruptly, the small red flowers browned, then dropped onto the
dark soil of the narrow flower bed. In turn, pointed olive green
leaves darkened, blackened, and fell. The smooth brown trunk
blackened in turn, and, but for an instant, blue flames played over
the blackened remnant of the ancient miniature tree. Within
moments, all that remained was a circle of black on the soil.

The Regent smiled coldly, then turned and left the enclosed
garden.
Chapter 112

Wendra had persuaded Alucius that she could stay a few days,
and that she could certainly look over the ledgers to give him a
hand while she was there. He had not protested excessively
strongly about either proposition, and he had enjoyed Octdi greatly,
taking more time off from his work than he should have.

On Novdi, when he came upstairs for a quick midday meal, he saw
that Wendra had laid out three ledgers across the single couch,
open at different points. She sat in one of the overstuffed
armchairs, burping Alendra.

"Alucius… there are things really wrong with these ledgers…"
Wendra looked up, a smudge of dirt or ink over her left eye. She
rose, holding out Alendra. "I need to show you."

Alucius took his daughter, still amazed at her, for so many reasons.
Already, Alendra's lifethread was close to half green, a promise of
strong Talent, yet she was still so small, or so it seemed to him, no
matter how often Wendra told him that she was good-sized for a
child less than two seasons old. And her eyes—a deep green with
flecks of gray. Over the years, Alucius had not seen many infants,
but never had he seen one so young with eyes of such strong and
striking color.

Wendra picked up the first ledger and carried it to where Alucius
could see without setting down Alendra. "This is the one for
outpost supplies. That's what it seems to be. Look at these lines
here."

Alucius looked, taking in the words: Cooperage, fifty full barrels
[slack/oak].

"The barrels… that was what caught my eye. Father never charges
more than a silver a barrel for slack cooperage—that's for oak. The
Guard is paying two silvers to Halanat and Sons, but they're buying
from Father at less than half that."

"A tidy profit—more than five golds for just that one lot of fifty
barrels."

"It's worse than that," she said. "Father has asked to bid on barrels.
He's always been told that his bids were too high."

"But he sold them to Halanat for what, less than five golds, and
Halanat resold them for ten?" Alucius shifted Alendra higher on his
shoulder.

"The ledgers don't say what price Halanat got. Between Weslyn
and Halanat they skimmed off more than five."

"How many times has this happened?"

"There are five times that I've found in this ledger. I don't know that
I've discovered them all. Or even most of them. There are also
some purchases of buckets and some flour that look like the same
thing. I can only trace the things where I know the costs."

"Still… just on the five-barrel lots, that's more than a half year's pay
for a colonel."

Wendra grinned. "Do you get that? We could buy another ram and
get a better outbreeding."

"You don't get the bonus on my pay anymore." Alucius wasn't sure
about that, but he doubted that the Lord-Protector would pay it
once he was back in Dekhron, even if it happened to be looking
almost as dangerous as battle duty. He frowned. That was
overstating matters.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking that… well… no one's going to like
what I'm finding. Even after the golds Weslyn was hiding."

Wendra set down the first ledger and brought a second one over.
"All this feed. It comes from a grower named Aluard in Fiente. The
amounts are twice what we pay for it for the town sheep, and we're
paying for almost a hundred vingts of cartage when we buy it in
Iron Stem. The Guard can't be paying but half that, not if it's
coming from Fiente to Dekhron. And there's a lot more feed sold
to the Guard than barrels."

Aluard—that was the name of Yusalt's brother. Were there two
Aluards who were growers in Fiente? Somehow Alucius doubted it.

"Weslyn had more than a few ties to Fiente. I'd wager that any oil
the Guard bought was purchased on the same basis."

"What will you do?"

"For now, I'll have to meet with the factors and traders and tell them
about what Weslyn did and suggest that it appears as if he
pocketed a great deal. I'll probably have to let it go at that—unless
I find evidence otherwise from here on in."

"Oh…" Wendra set down the ledger. "You need to eat, and I
haven't done much."

"There's bread and cheese, I think, and a few other things."

"That's not enough—"

"It will do. It's what I was eating before you came. Besides, what
you found already is more important than food." Alucius smiled.
"So is your being here."

"I'm glad to be here."

Alucius turned sideways, then leaned forward and brushed her
cheek with his lips. "You don't know how glad I am."

She grinned wickedly. "You showed me last night."

Alucius couldn't help flushing.

"Grandpa Kustyl came by a while ago." Wendra's voice sobered, a
serious tone.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning. I don't feel right leaving you, but I don't feel
right leaving everything on the stead to your grandsire. He gets
tired, really tired, if he has to take the flock out more than two days
in a row."

"You didn't tell me that."

"You've had enough to worry about."

That was true enough, and now she had told him.

"We need to get you something to eat." Wendra turned. "I can do it
if you'll keep holding Alendra."

Alucius readjusted his daughter against his shoulder. Alendra
squirmed, as if protesting the change in position, as Alucius
followed his wife toward the kitchen.

Still… he was back down in his study in less than half a glass, and
Wendra had promised to write down, as she could, all the
instances of obvious overpayments. He'd redrafted his request to
meet with the Traders' Council on the following Sexdi to discuss
matters of mutual interest and concern. After he signed and sealed
it, he had Fewal take it to Halanat's factorage, since he had no idea
where else to send it.

The lancer returned within half a glass to say that the factor Halsant
had accepted the letter with little more than a nod.

Kustyl arrived less than a glass into the afternoon, while Alucius
was drafting letters requesting the resignations of various officers,
mostly captains placed by Weslyn. Interestingly enough, Alucius
had already received a letter of resignation from Yusalt. That
indicated that either someone had passed the word to the captain
or Yusalt had not been quite so clueless as he had first appeared.
It also suggested he was far from guiltless.

Kustyl walked into the study, closing the door behind him. This time
he did settle into the chair across the desk from Alucius. He
smiled. "You got 'em worried. That's for sure."

"Who? The factors?"

"Mostly the folks with golds. Even Renzor's heard, and he's just a
coppersmith. They're talking about your facing down Weslyn.
Some of 'em claim you're part sander, with skin like theirs. Say that
nothing else could have survived the shots you took. A couple say
that Weslyn was a crack shot. Maybe three years back, he shot a
cutpurse running away from thirty yards in the dark. 'Course, no one
knew the cutpurse, and only Weslyn said he was a thief."

"Anyone know any more about that?"

"There was some captain who claimed the fellow had been a
lancer working in headquarters who deserted, but nothing came of
it."

Alucius nodded. Like so much he'd found, it was suggestive, but
hardly proof of anything. "What else?"

"It's what's not happening. No prices are changing. No one's
stocking up on things, and folks don't think you'll be colonel that
long. Figure someone'll shoot you, or that you'll go back to being a
herder, or the Lord-Protector will order you back into fighting the
Matrites."

"That's not good."

"Nope. Not all that bad, either."

"Why do you think that?"

"If they were all into this, you'd see more happening, one way or
another. People leaving town. Goods being sold."

"That… or they're all in it."

Kustyl shook his head. "Too many loose lips in Dekhron. Way I
figure it, it has to be Tarolt and Halanat, and everyone else is trying
to stay out of their path."

"What sort of goods do Halanat and Halsant handle?" asked
Alucius.

"Pretty much everything except nightsilk. Heard they've been
shipping more wine from the south out east, and sulfur to Deforya
lately," Kustyl said.

"The sulfur sounds like trouble."

"Your grandsire said you didn't much care for the Landarch."

"He wasn't as bad as the nobles around him. They're in charge
now. Before long, the Praetor of Lustrea will be trying to take over
Deforya. The Lord-Protector would like to, but he doesn't have the
lancers to do it."

"You're getting less cheerful these days."

"Wouldn't you?"

Kustyl laughed. "Never have been. Mairee had to be twice as
cheerful."

"I need someone here local to look over the ledgers. Someone
who's honest and won't take advantage of the information, but I'd
like them to be someone whose word most factors would trust."

"Don't want much, do you?"

"I never do," replied Alucius dryly.

Kustyl laughed again. "I'd say you ought to try Agherat. He's the
most honest of Dekhron's usurers."

"A usurer?"

"Who else knows ledgers and coins? You don't need a usurer.
Guard doesn't borrow. Means he doesn't gain much by it. He's a
cousin of Mairee's—she's got lots of cousins. I can ask him after I
leave here."

"If you would."

"I can do that." Kustyl stood. "That's what I've got. Talked to your
Wendra. She tell you?"

"You plan to ride back tomorrow morning." Alucius rose from
behind the desk.

"Quite a woman, that granddaughter of mine."

"More than anyone knew," Alucius said.

"Except you. You saw that right off, didn't you?"

"I'd like to think I did. I knew she was special. I didn't know why."

Kustyl nodded. "Glad to see she's on the stead. Best herder in the
whole family, and she had to get a stead from your family. Glad it
was your grandsire's. Almost family, anyway."

"I'm glad it worked out."

"You and all of the north valleys. See you in the morning." Kustyl
opened the door and slipped out.

Alucius looked down at the unfinished letter on the desk.
Sometimes, the writing that followed the decisions seemed as bad
as the decisions themselves.
Chapter 113

In the grayness before dawn on Decdi, Alucius opened the door to
his quarters. He carried Wendra's saddlebags, stuffed full, mainly
with clothing for Alendra, but also with his old nightsilk
undergarments. He hadn't realized how fast infants went through
clothing in cold weather, at least, if parents wanted them to remain
relatively dry and odor free.

Wendra followed him, with Alendra in the carrypack across her
chest, a pack designed to keep the infant snug, warm, and slightly
to the left, positioned so that, if necessary, Wendra could use her
rifles. Their breath trailed them like white fog as they made their
way down the steps to where Kustyl and Wendra's mount waited.
Alucius had saddled her chestnut earlier. The chill was more of
midwinter than late winter, and more what Alucius would have
expected on the stead, rather than in Dekhron.

At the bottom of the steps, Alucius gave Wendra a last, one-armed
embrace and kissed her cheek, then bent and kissed his
daughter's forehead. "I wish you could stay. Or that I could have
put my other plans into effect." Alucius had already told Wendra
that he had asked for permission to move the Northern Guard to
Iron Stem, and that the Lord-Protector was considering it. Wendra
had understood that he was reluctant to say more until he had a
firm commitment.

"I wish I could stay, too. You know it's not for the best."

Alucius did. In many ways, Dekhron was looking to be less safe
than the stead, and there was also the problem of Royalt.
According to Wendra, Alucius's grandsire was beginning to show
his age, and if he were left too long to handle the stead without
Wendra—or Alucius—the strain would be too great, and in the end,
both Alucius and Wendra would suffer more. Given all he owed to
his grandsire, Alucius did not want to place too heavy a burden on
Royalt. "Just be careful on the way back, and on the stead."

"I will. I always am." Wendra smiled warmly at him.

For a long moment, their eyes and lifethreads intertwined.

Then Wendra turned, and even with the carrypack, mounted easily.
After she mounted, Alucius checked the rifles at her knee, making
sure—once more—that the actions were clean and that the
magazines were full.

He stepped back. "Just be careful," he said again.

"We'll be fine." Wendra looked down at him. "You're the one who
needs to be careful."

Kustyl cleared his throat.

Alucius looked at the older herder.

"Agherat said he'd be glad to help," Kustyl said from the saddle of
his roan. "No charge. That's something from a usurer, but he didn't
care much for Weslyn. He's across and up from the chandlery
nearest the bridge. Sign with two coins."

"Thank you."

"Glad to ask for you." The older herder glanced to the north. "Cold
but clear on the way back. Wendra'll take care of us both. Better
shot than anyone except maybe you, Alucius."

"Let's hope you don't have to shoot anyone."

"Being prepared to shoots better than hoping you don't have to,"
Kustyl replied wryly, easing his mount around to face the gates.

Alucius walked beside Wendra's mount until they reached the
gates and the sentries, where he stopped, watching as they turned
northward. Then he started back toward his quarters.

Behind him he heard the sentries.

"… Colonels wife… pretty woman…"

"… herder like him… she can run a stead alone… rifles there aren't
for show…"

"… heard tell she was as good a shot as him…"

"… tough folk up north…"

"… could use more of 'em, especially now."

He could use more of just about everything, Alucius reflected,
except crooked factors and ifrits—and inept captains. He made his
way back to his study.

Once in the study, cold because the coal stove in the main part of
the headquarters building had not been fired up for the day—and
would not be until he did, since Decdi was end day, when lancers
had a day off, except in the field—he sat down behind the desk,
thinking over what lay ahead.

He'd promoted several senior squad leaders, and now Egyl was
the captain in command of Seventh Company. Feran had taken
Egyl and Seventh Company, as well as the two Southern Guard
companies, to Sudon, with another promotion order for Estepp to
captain and the order dismissing Captain Dezyn. Seventh
Company would stay there for some intensive training. Fifth
Company, with Faisyn as senior squad leader, had remained at
Dekhron to support Alucius.

Alucius still hadn't received any word from Majer Lujat on the
situation in northern Madrien, and only about half the northern and
western outposts had reported back. So far, thankfully, the reports
had been positive and seemingly appreciative of the change in
command. That would not last, not if the Northern Guard had to
deal with an attack by the Matrites, not when supplies and effective
officers were both low.

He took a deep breath and looked at the stacks of paper and
charts before him. He could only hope that Sanasus was almost
finished setting up the new ledgers and revamping the accounts
and disbursing systems.
Chapter 114

Lunch ana Duadi passed without incident—and without dispatches
from anywhere. Alucius and Sanasus checked the inventories of
everything against the ledgers, then began to go over the ledgers
line by line, sorting out what they calculated had been paid to
various crafters, growers, and factors, and what had been
recorded as being paid. They'd gone back only two seasons, and
the discrepancy was far larger than Alucius had originally
thought—more than a hundred golds in four months. At that rate,
Alucius calculated a difference of two hundred fifty golds a year. If
Weslyn had been diverting that much, where were the other five
hundred or so golds that had been "overcharged" in the past four
years? Had they gone to Halanat?

He'd brought in Agherat late on Duadi, and the old usurer had
clucked and mumbled and muttered, then found almost ten more
places where Weslyn had concealed overcharges. "Never liked
him. Too friendly. Kind that smiles while he cuts your purse."
Those had been Agherat's only words about the late colonel.

After the usurer had left, Sanasus and Alucius had both taken deep
breaths.

Alucius might suspect, but the more they looked, the clearer it was
that there was no evidence within the Northern Guard records that
pointed to misdeeds—except by Shalgyr and by Weslyn. Alucius
had no doubt that others were involved—or that, barring some
mistake or disclosure, he'd never find proof of his suspicions.

Feran returned to Dekhron on Tridi, striding into headquarters in
midafternoon and settling into the chair across from Alucius.

"How was Sudon?" asked Alucius.

Feran grinned. "Captain Estepp said you were the only colonel
who'd dare to make him a captain. He also said that he'd even
volunteer to take a company against the Matrites, if you needed it."

"Dezyn?"

"He should have been waiting with a letter of resignation." Feran
laughed harshly. "Instead, he asked when he'd be promoted to
overcaptain because all the heads of training had been
overcaptains before."

"How did you break it to him?"

"Not well. I told him that he was lucky you hadn't assigned him
personally to a suicide attack against a crystal spear-thrower, and
that he could consider himself fortunate to be able to resign, rather
than being dismissed or court-martialed for incompetence."

"He protested, of course. That kind always does."

"Not for long. I'd made sure Estepp was promoted first, and called
him in." Feran's grin widened. "I've never heard such a detailed
listing of incompetence. Never heard one so well presented,
either. I did ask Estepp to write it up and send it here."

"To you, I hope. As deputy commander." Alucius handed Feran a
sheet of parchment and a set of insignia. "It's official, now. You are
number two."

"You rushed that."

"No. I should have done it within the first day, but I dated back to
then, so you'll get paid for it."

Feran shook his head. "You do know what lancers think is
important."

"I hope so. Put on the new ones."

"Here?"

"Here."

Feran took off the overcaptain's bars.

Alucius looked at the majer's insignia on Feran's uniform collar.
"Those look good. Unlike some of us, you look old enough to be a
majer."

"That's another legacy I have to bear," Feran snorted.

"You'll handle it fine," Alucius insisted. "Better than I do."

"Not better. Differently. We make a good team."

"As a team," Alucius began, "we still have to figure out how to
strengthen all the companies in the west. We haven't heard from
Lujat."

"He's cautious. He's probably gathering information on his own, to
make sure that you're really in charge."

Alucius hoped so. Again, he was hoping too much.
Chapter 115

By Quinti morning, dispatches were flooding in from all the
outposts and companies. Alucius walked into Feran's study and
handed several more to the majer. "I think these are the last. It's
almost as if they'd all cross-checked with each other."

"They probably did. Once they saw senior squad leaders getting
promoted and Weslyn's flunkies getting sacked, they decided it
was real. Estepp sent a note with his report on Dezyn's
incompetence. He got a note from Sawyn—he's senior squad
leader with Twelfth Company—wanting to know if you were really
colonel."

"You think Sawyn… ?"

Feran shook his head. "Senior squad leader is where he belongs.
He can get anything done, but he's never had an idea of his own in
his life. Captains sometimes have to think."

"I'll be glad when we get the last of the new officers in place."

"Except that's when they've got to get to work." Feran glanced at
the reports. "Are you finished with all that work on the ledgers?"

"We had to go back over things after everything that Agherat
pointed out, but we did find a number of other discrepancies.
Sanasus has some loose ends, but it's done. At least, everything
that we could do."

"And?"

"We figure—it's a guess—but we think Weslyn diverted close to
twelve hundred golds. Who got the other eight hundred or so…
who knows? The house was only fifty golds, and even with that
matched pair of his and the carriage…"

"Only fifty golds for a house? Imagine that. I'd have to save every
copper for three years. And that's at the munificent pay of a
majer…"

"Then there was the wine. Agherat told me some of the bottles
cost a gold apiece. There were two hundred and five bottles."

"A mere hundred golds more," suggested Feran. "That leaves
seven hundred. You think it was Halanat?"

"That's my guess, but there's not too much I can do. There's not a
shred of proof."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

"Not knowing why, what they did with the golds, or the reasons just
might stop me." Alucius cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'll have to be
careful. I've got to meet with this Traders' Council tomorrow.
They've suggested some place called the White Bull."

"An old tavern on the river. That's not so bad. Things have quieted
down. If you don't accuse anyone, they'll probably stay quiet."

"That's what bothers me. I get a cordial letter from Halsant,
promising cooperation. Sanasus says that we're getting solid and
lower bids for flour and feed. It's as if nothing ever happened."

"You think something is about to happen?"

"Yes. They could be waiting to hear what I have to say, or they
could already be planning something." Alucius paused. "What did
you think of Majer Lujat's report?"

"He thinks the Matrites are waiting for warmer weather to attack."

"So do I," replied Alucius. "I just hope we can get those
companies reinforced, and the new captains have time to get
settled and ready."

"That's already happening. We've got good lancers. You wouldn't
believe the difference in Seventh Company under Egyl even in a
few days. We can send them out to Wesrigg in a week, and they'll
be a big boost."

"When does Estepp think we'll have enough trainees to reestablish
Nineteenth Company?"

"Midspring. I'll need until then to find the seasoned squad leaders,
and a nucleus of decent lancers from other companies."

Alucius was glad that he had Feran as his deputy because he'd
been able to leave the military organization side of things to the
older officer while he concentrated on unscrambling the logistics
and disbursement mess, although he had doubts that all the
questions would ever be resolved.
Chapter 116

The White Bull was indeed an old tavern, on the river and less than
a quarter vingt west of the high road and the ancient eternastone
bridge over the River Vedra, set in the middle of a block of even
older structures. The wooden front had been slathered with so
many coats of brown that the paint doubtless had more strength
than the wood beneath. The windows were clean, but the panes
were blued with age, except for the handful that had been
replaced. Fewal and Roncar rode with Alucius, but remained
mounted outside the tavern as he walked in.

About twenty men sat at the tables in the public room. All looked at
Alucius. No one said a word. Alucius took several moments to
survey the group before he finally spoke.

"I appreciate the chance to meet with you. I'm afraid that I don't
know any of you. At least, I can't say that I recognize any of you,
and if I should, I must apologize."

The sandy-haired and heavyset man who walked forward to greet
Alucius looked far older than the thirty years suggested by Kustyl.
He carried the aura of purpleness that bespoke some ifrit contact,
an aura stronger even than that which had surrounded Colonel
Weslyn. His eyes scanned Alucius before he spoke. "I'm Halsant. I
suppose… well, normally Tarolt would be doing much of the
talking, but he couldn't be here today."

"I see. Do you know why he couldn't?"

"No, Colonel. I don't ask other factors their business."

Alucius offered a smile. "I wasn't suggesting that. Sometimes,
people explain why they can't be places. I certainly wasn't prying. If
the honorable Tarolt didn't say, then that's his business, and I
certainly respect that."

Halsant nodded. "There have been stories of all sorts about what's
happening with the Guard…"

"That's one reason why I suggested that we meet. Another reason
is that the militia and then the Northern Guard have been so closely
tied to the traders and factors in Dekhron." Alucius turned slightly
so that he faced all the traders. "I don't know if Halsant shared what
I wrote, but I was asked by the Lord-Protector to become colonel
because an inspection of the Northern Guard last year had
revealed some serious problems." He took the sheets of paper he
had had prepared and laid them on a large circular table to his left.
"These are some papers outlining what we've discovered so far.
When you have a moment, feel free to look at them." Alucius
paused, hoping that someone would ask a question or move and
look at the documents. He really didn't want to do all the talking to a
silent audience.

"Some folks are saying that you were ordered to take care of
Colonel Weslyn, just get rid of him."

Alucius shook his head. "I was sent from Tempre to replace the
colonel. The documents on the table show that there were no
orders and no hints to do him harm. The Lord-Protector had
accepted the colonel's resignation—"

"Weslyn didn't resign."

Alucius smiled pleasantly. "That was a polite way for the Lord-
Protector to allow the colonel to save face. If the Lord-Protector
had wanted to be harsher, he could have dismissed the colonel or
ordered a court-martial for malfeasance."

"We liked the colonel. He was a friendly sort," offered a dark-
haired man to the rear of the group. He seemed to bear little trace
of the ifrit purple aura.

"I'm certain that you did. He was a pleasant man. But the colonel
never fought in a pitched battle, and he never commanded lancers
in battle, and it has been clear to battle-tested officers in both the
Northern and Southern Guard that it was time for a change. As
most of you should know, I did not seek this position. I only
accepted it under duress, and at the personal request of the Lord-
Protector. I accepted it because the war with Madrien is far from
over, and because the Iron Valleys would suffer greatly with the
Guard in the condition left by Colonel Weslyn."

"Why did you have him shot?" That came from another factor, a
ginger-bearded and balding man.

"I didn't. He shot me. Only after he and Imealt fired at me did my
men return fire. I was unarmed at the time. There were more than
ten witnesses, and a number of them were not my men, but the
colonel's."

"He must have had a reason."

"He did. He was afraid that if I survived, he'd be punished after I
discovered his crimes."

"You broke into his house. Why?"

"To recover the golds he'd stolen from the Guard accounts."

"You took his savings, according to his boy Lynat."

"We found a chest with over three hundred fifty golds in it. Colonel
Weslyn did not come from a wealthy family. Nor did he marry
wealth. He'd been a buyer for Ostar after he'd first left the militia. In
fact, according to those who knew him, he had almost no coin
when he returned to the militia as Colonel Clyon's deputy. In the
less than six years he was with the militia, then the Northern Guard,
his total pay was less than one hundred fifty golds. Would any of
you care to explain how an officer who was coinless managed to
purchase a large house, with a stable, costing over fifty golds, a
matched team and a carriage, and still come up with more golds
than twice his pay?" Alucius swept the room with his eyes.

Not a single trader even met his gaze.

"What he was doing, so far as the ledgers show, was to get a good
price from you and from other traders and crafters, then charge the
Guard almost twice that. He pocketed the difference. He
disbanded two companies and never told the Lord-Protector, and
pocketed the extra payroll as well. The Guard's not exactly in the
best position because of this. And neither are you and your
businesses."

"So… you're going to increase our tariffs?" suggested Halsant.

"No. The Lord-Protector was most specific. I have no powers
beyond those that Colonel Weslyn had. Tariffing still rests with the
Lord-Protector. My authority extends just to those matters affecting
the Northern Guard."

"Why do we have to get involved? Either as factors or as people in
the Iron Valleys?" That came from the dark-haired man in the back.

"You might recall," Alucius said quietly, "that the Matrial invaded the
Iron Valleys several years ago, and it was a hard fight to push the
Matrites back. Now, the Regent of the Matrial has refused any
terms with Lanachrona and demanded all of the south back and all
of the north, and ten thousand golds. I'd imagine, since the Iron
Valleys have an eighth of the land area of the rest of Lanachrona
and less than a tenth part of the population, our share might only be
one to two thousand golds. Whether we like what was done in the
past or not, we are involved, and the only question is how we deal
with it from here on."

Several traders exchanged glances.

"… never should have gotten into this…" came a whisper from the
back table.

Alucius refrained from pointing out that their unwillingness to
support the militia years earlier had created the problem. "We've
changed the ledger system back to something resembling the
older system, and we will be asking for various bids in the weeks
ahead. We've also been strengthening our forces in the west
because it's likely that the Matrial will attack in the spring. As I
mentioned a moment ago, Colonel Weslyn was indeed lining his
own pockets. I've asked several respected traders and crafters to
look at the Guard ledgers as well to attest to what we have
discovered. Some of your goods were involved. Because of the
way in which the colonel arranged for purchase of the goods at
your standard prices, you would only get your normal price and
would not know of this."

Alucius was lying here, because there was a strong suggestion,
both in the ledgers and from the fear emanating from a number of
the traders, that more than the colonel had been involved, but he
could not prove it and doubted that he ever could, not in a way to
be laid before a justicer or the Lord-Protector.

"Unless other problems arise, of course, I see no reason to dig
into the past. We certainly can't recover coins already spent. We
can only make sure that both you and the Guard get value for coins
in the future." Alucius offered a smile.

"You've been most forthcoming, Colonel," Halsant finally said.

Alucius could sense the worry from the man, worry and an aura of
fear that intensified the purple miasma that drifted around him.

"After all I've said," Alucius went on, "I'm certain that you'll all wish
to look at the documents here, and I'll wait in case you have any
questions."

As Alucius had suspected, there were few questions indeed, but
more than half the traders did stop to examine the papers and
documents. None asked him anything new.

After less than a glass, he was on his way back to Northern Guard
headquarters, still musing over the meeting, and why Halanat and
Tarolt had not been there. Was it because they were closely
connected with the ifrits and didn't want Alucius to know? Or
because they thought he was just beneath notice? Or because
they intended to act against him and didn't want to alert him,
knowing that a herder could sense that?

He didn't know and couldn't come up with any more plausible
reasons on the ride back to Northern Guard headquarters. But he
needed to find out. That thought remained with him as he
dismounted and turned the chestnut over to Fewal.

"I don't think I'll be riding out this afternoon."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius had been back in his study for only half a glass when Feran
appeared in the doorway and stepped inside.

"Lujat sent another dispatch," offered the older officer as he sat
down on the edge of the chair across from the young colonel.

"About what? That he's short of supplies, payroll, mounts,
equipment, and experienced officers?" replied Alucius dryly.

"It wasn't that bad. He has enough payroll and mounts. He also
expressed his appreciation of the recent reorganization—that's the
way he wrote it—of the officer corps. He said that would be of
great help, especially if the Matrites did not attack in the next few
weeks."

"I'm glad someone thinks we did something right."

"He also wrote that they found several Matrite deserters—dead,
without a mark on them."

"The torques. They've got them back working, maybe all of them."
Alucius still didn't know how, but it wasn't something he could
explain to Feran.

"Can't say that I like that." Feran paused. "How was your meeting
with the traders?"

"I'd guess we've reached an unspoken truce, of sorts, except with
Halanat and Tarolt. Tarolt wasn't there, and Halsant was doing the
talking for him and for his father."

"You think that the two older traders not being there means
something? That they don't want to agree or meet with you? Or that
they're guilty and know that because you're a herder, you'd know if
you met them?"

"That's my guess. I was willing to let it go, if they'd have come, but
without seeing them…"

"You could always just go see Halanat first," suggested Feran.
"From what you've said, he's the one who's been supplying more
of the goods to us. Then if he won't see you in person… you do
what you have to."

"I'd already thought that, but I was interested in what you think. I
don't like the idea of the two most powerful factors in Dekhron
avoiding me, as if I didn't even exist, or that the Northern Guard
doesn't matter."

"To them, it probably doesn't, except for the coins they get."
Feran's laugh was low and harsh.

Alucius nodded.

"If you go, I'd suggest an escort," Feran added. "Four lancers, at
least."

"That's too many. Two. Two makes it look as though I'm just self-
important. Four suggests I'm afraid, and that's not good."

"Fear is sometimes wise," Feran said sagely, before his somber
face broke into a grin.

"I'd agree, but showing it is not."

"You are wearing nightsilk still, I hope."

"Wendra brought me two new sets and a stronger vest. She said
I'd worn out the old ones."

"You probably did."

Alucius nodded. Wendra had made that point by putting her knife
through the chest of one of the older undergarments. She'd also
packed the old ones in with Alendra's clothes so that Alucius
wouldn't be tempted to wear them. She'd said that she could use
the heavy shears and tailor the unstressed nightsilk into a jacket for
Alendra. They both had understood that need, because Alendra
would have to accompany Wendra out on the stead at least some
of the time. Alucius worried about that as well. It seemed that the
older he got, the more worries he had.

"When will you try to see Halanat?" asked Feran.

"Tomorrow. The sooner we find out where we stand on all this, the
sooner we can work out a better budget and plan for the rest of the
year and next year."

"I'm glad you got all that herder training on how to handle coins."
Feran shook his head as he stood. "It's easier to deal with the
Matrites than ledgers. For me, anyway." He gave a last smile as he
left Alucius's study.

Alucius looked at the stacks of paper. He hoped he could finish up
with them in the next week. Then he could get back to working with
Feran on more ways to improve the Guard. But… without coins and
supplies, they couldn't do that, either.
Chapter 117

On Septi, under a clear silver green sky, promising spring, with the
sun nearing midmorning, Alucius rode out of the Northern Guard
headquarters. With him rode Roncar and Dhaget. He wished he
could ride alone, but he'd promised both Feran and Wendra that
he'd take an escort when he could.

He was glad to be out and riding. After only two weeks as colonel,
he was restless. Was he too young to be a headquarters officer?
Too much of a herder to spend so many glasses behind a desk?
He snorted. Did night-rams have sharp horns? Was the Aerial
Plateau high? Was winter at Blackstear cold?

For all his restlessness, though, he had a job to do, and if he didn't
do it and do it well, he might never get back to being a herder. He
shifted his weight in the saddle and continued riding toward the
river.

Halanat's factorage and warehouse were just opposite the wharves
on the River Vedra, almost a vingt west of the White Bull. Whether
he'd find Halanat there, he didn't know, but it was likely that if he
didn't, he'd learn more by visiting the warehouse. He might even
find out more from Halsant. Although Alucius had his doubts about
that, he thought he should try if Halanat didn't happen to be there.

Once beyond the headquarters gates, Alucius turned the big
chestnut to the right and followed the unmarked avenue toward the
trading district, one part of Dekhron that he had never visited.

The factor's warehouse was clearly marked—HALANAT &
SONS—with a recently painted signboard over a building that was
old but had been kept in repair. A heavy wagon was being
unloaded through the dock on the west side. Both the signpost and
the wagon bore a painted image of a silver wheel.

A silver wheel—the design mentioned by the women in Hyalt. That
gave Alucius a most uneasy feeling as he reined up in front.

"Do you want us to accompany you, sir?" asked Fewal.

"No. Just wait here. I don't think I'll be that long." Alucius
dismounted and handed the chestnut's reins to Fewal.

Alucius stepped up onto the narrow porch, opened the heavy oak
door, and paused. Inside the cavernous warehouse there was little
light, save that coming from the open loading door on the north
side of the west end and from the pair of barred and narrow
windows flanking the front door. Pallets, bales, and amphorae were
neatly placed in rows along the stone floor, but without signs or
labels. While there was a slight mustiness to the air, there was
surprisingly little dust.

Alucius caught sight of several figures beside the loading door and
started down the space between two rows of bales toward them.
Two men were rolling a hogshead farther inside the warehouse.
The third, who had been watching the unloading, turned—Halsant.

"Colonel… I can't say I expected to see you here. Unless you're
on stead business, and, in that, I certainly can't help you. You know
we don't handle nightsilk."

"I understand that you never have," Alucius replied. "But that's not
why I'm here."

"Oh… ?"

"You seem to be doing well these days." Alucius gestured back at
the goods stacked in the warehouse.

"As well as can be expected." After a pause, Halsant asked, "What
did you want?"

"Actually, I was looking for your father."

"You know… he's not that involved in the factoring these days."

Alucius smiled politely. "I understood that as well. A number of
people have suggested I should talk to him."

Halsant's eyes flicked from Alucius toward the windows though
which the two lancers could be seen and back to Alucius. "Oh?"

"Yes." Alucius waited.

The trader shook his head and shrugged. "That's your business,
then. He should be in his study at the house."

"Thank you." Alucius started to turn, then stopped. "I didn't want to
ask when I met with the Traders' Council the other day, but could
you tell me something about it? Why it was created?"

"Not much to say. Once the Lord-Protector dissolved the old
council, none of us really met. We decided we still needed to tell
each other what was happening… the way the traders do in
southern Lanachrona. We were stumbling all over each other…
cost a lot of golds. It's more like an exchange, not really a council."

"I take it you become one of those most involved with it?"

"I've been going to the meetings. Most of us have. I suppose I
have more to say than some. We've had to go farther and farther in
our trading."

"I noticed the silver-wheel emblem. Is that just yours, or do all the
traders in Dekhron use that? I could have missed it, but I don't
recall seeing it before."

"It's ours, but it's new in the last few years. Once we started going
south, we decided we needed an emblem, something that would
make us easier to recognize. It's not a name, not something tied to
the north, you know?"

"That makes sense," Alucius said.

Halsant looked toward the loading dock. "If you'll excuse me…"

Alucius smiled. "I'm not that familiar with Dekhron. I've spent most
of my time in the Guard and militia out fighting. Could you point me
in the direction of your father's house?"

"Oh… take the avenue north one block, then follow the street west
almost to the end. There's a wagon carved in a plaque by the
door." Halsant nodded and turned.

Alucius watched for a moment before walking back along the row
of bales and leaving the warehouse.

Fewal and Dhaget looked at their colonel as Alucius left the
warehouse and remounted the chestnut.

"We're off to see his father, another trader called Halanat. I hope
he's where he should be." Alucius eased his mount back up the
avenue, then westward on the next street.

That street extended a good half vingt to the west before it ended,
but even from several hundred yards away, Alucius could Talent-
sense the purplish feel that seemed to envelop the two-story
dwelling set slightly farther back from the street than the houses on
either side. The ornamental shrubs that flanked the wide front
porch seemed to droop lackadaisically, as if winter had been hard
on them. The grass was sparse and dying, and not from winterkill.

With no hitching posts in front, Alucius dismounted and handed the
chestnut's reins to Dhaget. "I shouldn't be all that long, but I'd
guess this Halanat might have more to say than his son did."

The two lancers acknowledged the words with a nod.

Alucius took the two steps up to the covered porch, glanced up at
the ancient carved wagon plaque beside the door, then lifted the
heavy brass knocker and let it fall. The thud echoed harshly in
Alucius's ears. After several moments, a thin-faced and graying
woman, without a dual lifethread but with a heavy purple aura,
opened the door. She frowned quizzically.

"Alucius, madam. Halsant said that I could find Halanat here." He
smiled as warmly as he could manage.

"He doesn't handle the factoring anymore. That's Halsant, and he's
down on the river."

"I'm not here about trade," Alucius replied politely. "I've just talked
to Halsant, and he suggested I needed to talk to his father…"

"If you must…" With a resigned sigh, she stepped back into the
foyer and held the door, inclining her head toward the closed door
to her right. "He's there. As always."

"Thank you." Alucius bowed his head briefly, then stepped to the
door, behind which he could sense a well of purple. For just a
moment, he paused before depressing the door lever and entering
the room. He closed the door as he stepped inside.

Halanat sat behind a wide table desk, with stacks of parchment and
paper set across the side facing Alucius. The herder saw not one
image, but two. His eyes took in a round-faced trader with
nondescript brown hair wearing a dark gray tunic trimmed in brilliant
blue. His Talent-senses showed him another sight entirely—that of
a man whose lifethread had been possessed by an ifrit. That
lifethread was not the normal brown or tan or yellow, or even that of
a herder—black or black shot with green, or even black shot with
purple or pink, or the dual pink and black threads he had seen with
the torques of the Matrial. Instead, there was the thinnest of brown
threads, a lifethread of Corus. Entwined and twisted around that
thin brown thread was a pulsing purpled rope of an ifrit lifethread,
and that purpled ropelike thread dwindled southward into the
distance, but not all that far, Alucius felt.

Although Alucius had suspected as much from what he had
sensed already, he still had to restrain his total shock at seeing the
trader so possessed.

"You are bold, Colonel—or should I call you herder?"

"Titles don't matter. You should know why I'm here."

A momentary expression of puzzlement crossed Halanat's face. "I
must say that I cannot imagine why—especially alone and without a
company of loyal Northern Guards with you."

"There are several outside." Alucius nodded slowly. "Even more
might have been more prudent after your last effort of some years
ago." He had no proof that the trader had been involved in the
attempted assassination effort with more than twenty bravos just
after Alucius had been released from the Northern Guard some
two years before, but it was worth suggesting.

"What effort?"

"The one that cost you more than two hundred golds," Alucius
replied. "Or have you forgotten? Did all those golds mean so
little?"

A cool smile crossed the trader's lips, but did not reach his eyes.
"And you let it pass for so long before suddenly appearing to
accuse me of whatever this might have been? "

"I'm not suggesting anything. You know what you did, and I'm
saying it."

"You can say whatever you want," Halanat stated. "That doesn't
mean it's true."

"It's true enough, and now there are wild pteridons roaming the
steads. That is also your doing—or that of those working with you.
As were the supplies you sent to the prophet, and the excessive
number of golds you received In return."

"That is to be expected. Supplying a rebel can be dangerous…
and costly. You expect a factor to risk that for normal rates? Surely,
you are not that naive, Colonel."

"And the wild pteridons?"

"Times are changing." Halanat rose, still smiling coldly. "Do you
wish to leave? You might prevail here, but you cannot stand against
what will be."

Alucius could feel the chill inside himself. How many more of the
ifrits had invaded Corus? And how? "Seldom is anything
inevitable."

"Ah… the arrogance of youth." Halanat continued to smile.

Why didn't the ifrit attack? Because he knew Alucius could win?
Because he was waiting for assistance? What had Alucius done
before? After the slightest of hesitations, he sent out a slim Talent-
probe, the strongest he could muster.

In return, the Halanat-ifrit hurled a blast of purplish lifeforce at
Alucius.

Alucius slipped the purple force aside, in a fashion similar to the
way in which he might have handled a sabre slash.

The trader slammed back with another blast of intense purple
Talent-force.

Again, Alucius slip-parried it. Then, recalling his training with the
soarer, he concentrated on seeking the nodes beneath and within
the ifrit lifethread, the thread that was linked to something to the
south.

The trader threw up a purpled shield, blocking Alucius's probe, and
reached for a drawer in the table desk.

Alucius formed a golden green wedge of life-Talent and let the
force flare around him, then struck once more, aiming at the most
prominent node linking the ifrit lifethread to the trader.

Halanat froze for a moment, perspiration bursting out all across his
forehead in droplets that flew from his face in all directions.

Alucius slid his probe under the purple shield, twisting and
unraveling the smaller lifethreads within the node. As he did, he
could sense heat rising in and around him, and sweat popping out
on his own forehead. His efforts felt like clumsy fumbling and as
though time all around him had slowed to a crawl as his Talent-
probe knifed into the node of the ifrit's lifethread.

Suddenly, the trader's ifrit thread vanished in a spray of tiny purple
threads, and Halanat stood there, wavering on his feet, his eyes
widening. His hand twitched, and he pulled a double-barreled pistol
from the now-open drawer.

Unable to reach the trader in time, Alucius slashed a second
Talent-probe at the trader's now-unprotected and remaining
lifethread node, keeping his lance of golden green tight and
focused. With a spray of brown and green, Talent-threads and
Talent-shards vanished as they flared into the air.

The pistol clunked dully as it struck the rich Hyaltan carpet. After a
moment, Halanat pitched forward and crumpled against the table
desk. His lifeless body slid sideways and sprawled across the
carpet, covering the pistol.

Alucius stood stock-still, breathing hard. He'd forgotten just how
much effort Talent-battles took. He took several more deep
breaths before slowly turning. He opened the door to the entry hall
carefully, but the foyer was empty. Closing the study door behind
him, he crossed the foyer and stepped out onto the porch, then
made his way down the stone walk to where the lancers waited with
the chestnut.

"Sir?"

"Dealing with factors can be… trying. Everything is in coins. He
admitted that they supplied the prophet and was proud of it."

"Sir?"

"He said that profit was necessary for a trader. I had to tell him that
he could no longer expect excessive profit from the Guard. There
wasn't much more that I could say." Alucius wiped his still-sweating
forehead, then took the reins from Dhaget and mounted. "He was
rather agitated when I left. Most agitated." Alucius forced a
crooked smile. "That was the least I could do under the
circumstances."

He guided the chestnut back eastward on the long street, back
toward Northern Guard headquarters. Much as he disliked the idea,
he needed to find Tarolt before long, but he had no idea exactly
where to begin.

He'd have to claim, if anyone accused him, that he and Halanat had
argued, and that Halanat had pulled the pistol and gotten so
agitated that his heart had just stopped. But, somehow, he doubted
that anyone would say anything.

Alucius took another long breath and blotted his forehead once
more. He'd hoped otherwise, but he had known that there was
always the possibility that the ifrits would return. And it was clear
that their return was linked to the prophet—and possibly to the
Regent of the Matrial. He just didn't know how—or how many ifrits
there were, or where.
Chapter 118
Northeast of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

Wearing her vest over a long-sleeved shirt, although with nightsilk
undergarments, Wendra stood in the equipment room of the
maintenance barn, careful not to inadvertently swing the carrypack
that held Alendra into any of the heavy machinery. She lifted the
handle of the antique crusher out of the housing, setting it and the
attached iron piston carefully on the oak workbench that seemed
equally ancient. Tilting the crusher's housing slowly, she poured
out the fine granular powder that she had just ground. She
measured out a half cup of the powdered crushed quartz and used
a funnel to ease the powder into the bottle she had brought from
the main house.

She'd have to go back to the kitchen and the cooler to add the
goat's milk and heat the makeshift formula before she fed the
orphaned night-lamb that was bleating mournfully in the crib pen
beside the main barn. Even with the goats supplied by Kustyl,
feeding and caring for the lamb had been hard, but none of them
wanted to see the lamb die—early unseasonal birth or not—and
especially not after losing four nightsheep over the fall and winter.
That the lamb was the second that needed hand-raising in less
than two seasons didn't help, either. After she fed the lamb, she
needed to check the spindles in the processing tank to see if they
were ready for spinning.

Something murmured outside the closed windows of the
workroom. Wendra cocked her head and listened, wondering if
Lucenda had come back for something. Royalt had taken the flock,
after having let her take the nightsheep on the previous two days.

She smiled to herself. No one on the stead ever turned back for
anything, especially Alucius, and she'd come to understand why
after living with Lucenda and Royalt. She tilted her head. There was
a greenish sense outside, almost like that of her husband, and the
silence of a still day, which was welcome because the winter had
been long and blustery and cold.

"Yes, it has been, little one," she murmured to Alendra, who was
neither quite sleeping nor quite awake in the carrypack.

Wendra replaced the crusher handle and piston, then picked up
the bottle and stepped out of the maintenance barn, carefully
closing the door behind her. With everyone gone for the morning,
she couldn't go around leaving doors open.

Out on the stoop of the stone building, she thought she heard a
song without words, a haunting song that enfolded the stone
building. It was definitely a song and not the wind. The melody was
not quite recognizable.

The herder looked eastward, squinting from under the edge of the
eaves into the early-morning light. Already, Royalt and the
nightsheep flock were well out of sight, beyond the nearer ridges.

A glittering flash of golden green washed over her—from her left.
She turned, and her mouth opened as she beheld a soarer
hovering at the end of the porch, closer than she ever had seen
one. The green-tinted wings blurred the light, wings that appeared
almost crystalline one moment and diaphanous the next. The
soarer's face was that of a beautiful girl child with short golden and
translucent hair. An expression that might have been a smile
crossed the small mouth. The silver green eyes remained fixed on
Wendra. The soarer wore no garments, but the golden mist that
surrounded her feminine figure served just as well to conceal her
shoulders and torso.

Only once had Wendra seen a soarer from closer than a vingt
away, and this one was less than five yards from her. There was an
enormous difference in seeing one from two thousand yards or
even fifteen—and from five. So Wendra watched, listening, as the
soarer hovered.

The soarer was beautiful, not as any woman might be, but of itself,
and Wendra drank in that beauty, entranced.

For a long moment, she stood there.

Then, out of nowhere, a hand grasped her right shoulder, a hand
that felt like warm stone, a hand that belonged to a squat figure
less than two-thirds her size. The sander was tan, and its skin
sparkled in places, as if diamonds or crystals shone through its
rough skin. Like a person, it had two arms and two legs, hands and
feet, a pair of eyes, and a mouth and nose. It wore no clothes.
Sanders never did.

Wendra jerked her head around and tried to pull away from the
sander. Although the top of its head came but to her shoulder, its
hand held her arm so tightly that she could not break free. She
lashed out with her knee, driving it into the creature's body. Her
knee felt as if she had rammed it into a stone wall, and a wave of
pain seared up through her thigh and down to her toes
simultaneously.

As she tried to pull back from the sander, a second ironlike grip
took her left shoulder. Another sander had appeared from
nowhere, seemingly sliding out of the sandy soil and leaping onto
the porch.

Trapped and held tight by the two sanders, Wendra glanced
toward the soarer, who still hovered in at the end of the porch.

"What do you want?"

Neither the sanders nor the soarer answered.

"Why are you doing this?"

Again, none of the three replied.

"Why?" Wendra demanded. "Why me?" She gathered together
her Talent-force and began to reach out for the life-node, as
Alucius had taught her.

Do not… The soarer wrapped a greenish force around Wendra's
probe. We mean you no harm, but you must come.

The two sanders said nothing, but then, Wendra had not expected
that. Not even as they lifted her—each using but a single arm and
hand—and carried her down the steps as if she were a lamb or a
child. They walked northeast—toward the Plateau—and away from
the southeast, where Royalt had ridden out a good glass earlier.

Wendra did not scream or yell. There was no one within vingts who
could have heard her.
Chapter 119

Slightly more than a glass after morning muster on Octdi, Alucius
returned from the strong room, where he and Sanasus had
counted out and checked the payroll. Normally, and once things
were more settled, that would be handled almost entirely by
Sanasus, but Alucius still felt that he needed a better
understanding of some of the mechanics of how headquarters
worked.

Not for the first time, he was beginning to see why Royalt had
never even entertained the idea of making a career out of the
militia—and probably would not have, even if he had not had the
stead to return to. Everywhere Alucius looked, there were reports,
and accounts, and he couldn't do much of anything himself—just
order and advise and wait… and hope that things were done right.

With a deep breath, he picked up Sanasus's report on logistical
needs for the next two seasons. He was not looking forward to
reading it, but he needed to know, especially if he wanted to carry
out his project of moving the Guard to Iron Stem.

A chill, bitingly cold, slashed across Alucius's wrist. He looked
down, even as his Talent enfolded the black crystal of the
wristguard. Although the wristguard remained chill, not quite
unbearably so, he could sense that Wendra was healthy. But why
the chill?

Had something happened to Alendra?

For a moment, he felt that he could not breathe, but he pushed that
thought away. The chill had to be related to Wendra. He swallowed.
It felt almost like the times when he had used the ifrits' Tables. But
there weren't any Tables in the northlands. Were there?

He just looked at the wristguard. The chill continued. That it did told
him that, whatever was happening, it wasn't a Table, because the
Table transport was faster. But what could it be?

He just sat there behind the desk, looking at and sensing the
crystal, but the chill continued.

After a time, he looked down at Sanasus's careful handwriting and
the column of figures below. The letters danced before his eyes,
and they made no sense whatsoever.

Finally, he stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the
hazy sky.

Abruptly, as suddenly as it had come, the chill lifted from the wrist-
guard, and the pulse from the crystal remained strong—and
somehow warm. That was only slightly reassuring for the young
colonel.

Alucius looked at the wristguard, but it offered no answers beyond
indicating that Wendra was healthy. He did feel that, had anything
happened to Alendra, there would have been some continuing sign
of distress from Wendra. Beyond that, he could only hope and
trust that Wendra and Alendra were not in danger.

He couldn't just ride out—not when what he did with the Northern
Guard might affect their future as well—and even if he did, it would
be a long day and well into the night before he could reach the
stead. And if Wendra had been transported by a Table… going
home wouldn't help at all.

But the chill, and what it might have meant, nagged at him.
Chapter 120
Dekhron, Iron Valleys

At the sound of the knocker on the door, the white-haired man in
black left the study and walked across the foyer. He frowned as he
looked through the side window and saw the figure standing
outside in a heavy winter coat. After a moment, he opened the
door and stepped back. The younger man stepped inside the
foyer, ushered in by a wintry blast of chill air, and Tarolt closed the
door. He did not offer to escort the newcomer beyond the foyer.
"Yes?"

"Tarolt… I know I should have come earlier. I felt I had to come,"
began Halsant, "but… I didn't find out until late last night. I was
working late on the ledgers at the warehouse… and it was only
when I came by the house and saw the lamp on. You know…
Father got most angry if anyone entered his study, even with
Mother."

"Halsant. What happened?"

"Father's dead. It must have happened after the colonel came."

"After the colonel came? Could you please tell me what
happened? In order, if you could manage that?" Tarolt's firm words
verged on cold and cutting.

"Colonel Alucius came by yesterday morning. By the warehouse, I
mean, and he was looking for Father. He said several people had
suggested he talk to Father, but he didn't say who. I told him Father
was at home. He thanked me, and he left." Halsant blotted his
brow, sweating despite the chill from which he had emerged.
"Mother said he—the colonel—came to the house. He didn't stay
long. Mother heard a thump, but she didn't think much of it,
because Father threw things sometimes. Especially when he was
angry, and the colonel would make any trader angry these days.
Anyway… Father hadn't left the study, and she was worried, but…"

"But what?"

"She wouldn't go in. So I did. He was dead. There wasn't a mark on
him. I think… whatever the colonel said must have made him so
angry that his heart stopped. You know what a terrible temper he
sometimes had." Halsant blotted his face once more. "Anyway, I
thought you should know, but it was well after dark last night. So I
came first thing this morning."

Tarolt nodded slowly. "I appreciate your riding out here to tell me. It
must be a terrible loss to you and to your mother."

"She doesn't know what to do."

"I'm certain you can take care of everything, and I will certainly offer
any advice and support you need."

"Thank you."

Tarolt looked toward the door. "I wouldn't want to keep you from
your family right now. They'll be needing you, and once you're
more settled we can talk. We will talk."

A faintly dazed expression crossed Halsant's face at Tarolt's last
words.

"You'll talk to me before you do anything with his study, of course."

"Of course."

"Now… you need to see to your family."

"I need to see to my family." Halsant nodded dazedly and turned.

Only after Tarolt had watched the young trader ride back eastward
toward Dekhron did he return to the study.

"What was that all about?" asked the pale and stocky man in a
maroon tunic.

"We had a visitor, Sensat. He had to tell me something. Most
important." Tarolt glanced around the oak-paneled study, his eyes
flicking across the hundreds of books shelved there before
dropping back to the other. "Have you found anything else?"

"No. I doubted that there would be even before you purchased all
those volumes from Borlan. I told you that. Those who wrote books
wouldn't be the ones who knew where the scepters might be. Or
even where the old maps would be."

"There must be a hint… somewhere… about the scepters."

"You said we did not need them. Rather firmly, I recall."

"That was not quite what I said, Sensat. I said we would not need
them if the ancient ones and the herder colonel did not become
involved. More precisely, we do not need them, but they could be
dangerous in the hands of the herder."

Sensat's fine black eyebrows arched as he tilted his head and
placed the volume bound in burgundy leather on the long table
beside which he stood. "And they have suddenly become
involved?"

"Halanat was killed earlier today. His son and widow say that he
was visited by the colonel just before that."

"Murder's still a crime. That would solve dealing with the colonel."

"It would be hard to prove. Halanat's heart stopped. There wasn't a
mark on him. He had a heart attack. They all think he was so upset
by the colonel that it happened after the colonel left."

"It didn't, of course."

Tarolt snorted. "His lifethreads were severed, I'm sure. That was
what the colonel did to Enyll. Even for an Efran, that's hard to tell
unless you're present. The traces are faint and vanish soon. No
one here would be able to tell anything except that his heart
stopped. It did, of course, but not in that order."

"You don't think it was an ancient one?"

"No. It had to be the colonel. I would have felt it, even from here, if
there had been a lifeforce drain, at least from them. So it was just a
severing."

"What do you plan? Are you going to see Trezun and use the
Table?"

"I think I'll wait until the colonel comes to see me. He will, sooner or
later, and it is always better to deal with Talent from a position of
strength."

"What if he does not come to you, the way he did to Halanat?"

"Then one way or another, we'll ride to Salaan and entice him into
following. He might anyway."

"You want him to know that there is a Table in Salaan? He has no
reason to suspect that, and you want to let him discover that?"

"We cannot assume that he is that ignorant. Not now," Tarolt
pointed out. "He destroyed one Table. Besides, he will sense a
Table there, and that will be a great temptation."

"He destroyed the Table in Tempre."

"That was an ancient Table, one weakened by age and misuse.
We would have had to replace it shortly, in any case. Waleryn and
you are supposed to be working on that, are you not?"

"Waleryn should be in Norda, but he has not finished rebuilding the
Table there. You had said he was to work on the Table in Tempre
after Norda."

"You hope Waleryn is in Norda?"

"There is no way to tell, Tarolt. You know that."

Tarolt offered a cold smile.

Sensat frowned. "Do you think it is wise to let the colonel near a
Table? That could be risky."

"Only to him. Besides, where could he go? To Prosp? Or to one of
the inactive Tables? Translating there could kill him. In any event,
one fully translated Efran should be more than enough, even to
deal with an ancient one. I would rather deal with him here, but if he
does not come close here, we will not take chances. We will deal
with him from even greater strength in Salaan." Tarolt glanced
toward the door to the study.

"While we wait, might I continue perusing these?" Sensat gestured
toward the burgundy volumes on the table.

After a moment, Tarolt laughed. "You will have plenty of time. The
colonel has begun to learn patience, though it will avail him little."
Chapter 121
The Hidden City, Corns

Wendra woke. She was lying on a bed wide enough for two, in a
cramped fashion, looking up at a ceiling of amberlike stone. She
scrambled upright, looking for Alendra. The carrypack on her chest
was empty. She bolted for the doorway, but the silver door lever
was unmoving, as solid as if it had been carved from amberstone
in one piece with the door itself.

She turned, forcing herself to take in the room around her. The
walls were of the same polished amber as the ceiling. The room's
single window showed the cloudless silver green sky of Corus. For
a moment, she looked dully at the window. Then she realized that
she had never seen glass so clear, and that it was set not in wood,
but in a shimmering silvery metal that could not have been silver.

Wendra hurried to the window. She pressed the flat bracket to one
side and slid the window open. A blast of winter-cold air whipped
around her, and as quickly as she had opened the window, she
closed it. So cold was that air that even her nightsilk
undergarments, her winter shirt, and vest were insufficient to offer
much protection against that rush of frigid air.

Standing at the closed window, she looked out. Immediately, she
could see that she was in a tower. Below were other buildings that
extended a good vingt from the tower. The buildings ended at a
circular wall, and both wall and buildings were of the same amber
stone. Beyond the wall was white sand that shimmered and
glittered in the afternoon sun. Even farther to the west was a
rampart of dark rock, along the top of which ran green-tinted crystal
oblongs.

Wendra turned from the window, looking back into the room,
wedge-shaped and far narrower at the end with the door. She
walked to the door, golden wood without windows or peepholes,
and a single lever handle of the same metal as the window
casements.

Extending her Talent to the door, she tried to move the door lever,
but it did not budge. Was there a lock somewhere? Alucius had
mentioned something.

She could sense a greenish radiance behind her and looked
toward the window. When she looked back, the soarer had
appeared within a yard of her. The soarer's shape was shrouded
by the golden-tinged green mist that acted as a garment, but her
form was feminine. Her brilliant green eyes were clear, and deep…
and very old, so old that Wendra took an involuntary step
backward—until Wendra saw that in the soarer's arms rested a
smiling Alendra. From the lifethread, Wendra could tell that her
daughter was healthy and happy, but she rushed forward and
swept Alendra into her arms.

"Why am I here? Why?" Wendra's words echoed through the
tower room. "Why did you take my daughter?"

The hidden city. It is not for you. Not once you are prepared to do
what must be done. We only took your daughter because she
awoke before you, and we did not wish her to be distressed.
Although the soarer did not speak her words aloud, they were as
clear as if she had.

"But why?"

Because it is necessary.

"Necessary?"

We will teach you all that we taught your mate, while he searches
for you.

"Why did you take me?"

You are the key to whether your people survive, and we would have
you survive, if only for our own foolish pride. Dry humor colored the
words. Pride is what little remains to us.

"Me? How can I be key? Alucius has the great Talent. Not me."

You have the same potential as does he. The ifrits must be
stopped. They should not be allowed to destroy world after world.
Your mate will do only what he must. He would not have acted in
time, had we not taken you.

"That is evil…" Wendra protested.

Well that may be, but it is an evil less ill than watching our—and
your—world be bled to death.

"What if he doesn't find me?"

He will not find you.

The certainty in the soarer's words chilled Wendra.

You must learn greater use of your Talent. We will try to teach you.
If you learn, you may rejoin him in his efforts against the ifrits.

"How do you know he will fight them?"

He has no choice.

"What if I cannot learn what you want?"

Then, in time, you also will perish, for the ifrits will seek you out and
use your body and expunge your mind. In greater time, all that you
know and love will also perish.

Wendra was silent, trying to assimilate what the soarer had said. If
she did not learn, she and all she loved would be lost?

Now… you will learn more about the threads of life, and how they
may be mended—and unraveled… and how you may do so more
quickly…

Wendra swallowed. But she listened, and she held Alendra tightly.
Chapter 122

Alucius had heard nothing about Halanat on Septi, nor during the
day on Octdi. Nor had the feeling from the wristguard changed. He
tried not to pace too much in his small study, but he couldn't help
but worry about Wendra—and about Tarolt, the shadowy trader that
everyone followed but was never seen. Alucius had to believe that
Tarolt was another ifrit, but he was hesitant to confront another
trader immediately. He had the feeling that the meeting would be
just like the one with Halanat—and that only one person would
leave. Having two traders drop dead after meeting with him within
days wasn't something he wanted to deal with, and the alternative
was worse. At the same time, he worried about what might happen
if he didn't do something fairly soon. He didn't want to deal with an
attack by the Regent and whatever Tarolt might be planning at the
same time.

He struggled through more inventories and planning, and reports,
all the while trying to reach some decision on how to deal with
Tarolt. Finally, late on Octdi, Alucius looked into Feran's study for
the third time in less than a glass, but this time Feran had returned.

"Yes?" asked the older officer. "Did you need something? I was
out going over some things with Faisyn, and the schedule for
replacements from Sudon."

"How about some supper at the Red Ram? I'll pay."

"That's a hard offer to refuse," Feran replied with a grin, "even for a
newly affluent majer." He set aside the dispatch he had been
reading and stood. "That can wait. It's basically a report from
Soulend saying how cold it's been and how nothing has happened
since harvest."

"What does Sordet want?"

"Replacement lancers for those whose terms are up, and some
assurance for two squad leaders that they can actually get
stipended."

"The Lord-Protector pays the stipends these days, but Frynkel's
been delaying them by a season. He hasn't said whether that
applies here. I don't like doing that…"

"But you're thinking about it?" asked Feran.

"I worry that we don't have enough experienced squad leaders and
that the ones we promoted to captain need all the experienced
squad leaders they can keep for at least a month."

"So that just before the Matrites attack, we get rid of the stipended
ones?" Feran's voice was dry.

"You're right. Do you think we ought to promote early, and
overlap?"

"That might not be a bad idea." Feran reached for his riding jacket.
"You'd better get your jacket. It's as cold as Soulend outside."

"Winter's supposed to be ending."

"Tell the wind out there that."

Alucius reclaimed his own riding jacket, and the two walked out of
the headquarters building, across the courtyard, and through the
narrow archway in the south wall, turning west toward the tavern.

Despite the signboard with the ram upon it, more a nightsheep
painted in red than a town sheep, most of the Guard officers called
the old red-stone building on the corner after the
proprietress—Elyset's.

The graying Elyset was the one to meet Alucius and Feran. Her
eyes sparkled, and she looked at the insignia of both collars. Then
she smiled. "You two have come up in the world—especially you,
Colonel. The last time you were here… was it majer?"

"It was." Alucius couldn't help grinning. "The last time I was here,
you told me about the chicken, but I'd been hoping for quail."

Elyset laughed, but the sound died away quickly. "I didn't
remember last time, but you were the one who stopped the
barbarians in Deforya and got decorated by the Lord-Protector.
Right?"

"Unfortunately. Then, after a couple of years, he ordered me south,
then back here."

"Good thing. Guard hasn't done so well since then."

"That's what I heard." Alucius paused, then added, "Might just be
me, but I missed Colonel Clyon."

Elyset snorted. "So did the few old-time officers left. Got word that
they're happy to see you." So far.

The proprietress turned to Feran. "You should have come here
more often. Gheravia was asking about you."

"Now that I'm a majer, you mean?" parried Feran.

"She liked you when you were a captain, Majer."

Feran shook his head, as if to deny it.

"She did, but… I'd better get you two settled." Elyset turned and
escorted them to a corner table, one adjoining the hearth, in which
several large logs were burning on a deep bed of red and white
coals. "Good table here for a chill evening."

Alucius settled himself into one of the four armless wooden chairs,
the one of the two that afforded a view of the front entrance. Feran
settled into the other one.

"Don't have quail today, but the noodles and fowl are good. Cutlets
are tough. Wouldn't even have 'em to serve, except some of the
senior rankers, they won't eat anything else."

"Habits." Alucius laughed.

Elyset bent down, leaning toward Alucius, and lowered her voice.
"Tarolt and Halanat been talking about you, I think… herder majer
and then colonel… Don't know why… thought you ought to know."

"Thank you. Can you tell me what Tarolt looks like? " Alucius kept
his voice low.

"White-haired, sturdy, eyes sort of purple, white skin—got little
hands and a mean smile. Always wears black. Built a new place out
on the point. Only house there, now that Hanal's place burned
down. Didn't tell you that." Elyset shrugged and straightened.

"Appreciate the tip about the cutlets," Alucius said loudly, winking
and managing to slip a silver from his wallet and into Elyset's hand.

"You don't like something, and you don't come back. We always
need people to come back." She grinned. "Even if it takes some
herders years and becoming a colonel."

"But they remember," he returned.

"That's what we hope. Grenna will be along in a few moments."

Despite the banter that had surrounded Elyset's warning, the whole
exchange left a cold feeling in Alucius's guts, especially since the
proprietress had no sense of purpleness. He glanced around the
Ram, but only two other tables were taken, one by a grizzled crafter
with a woman clearly not his wife, and the other by two bravos in
brown.

"What did she say?" asked Feran.

"Told me that Tarolt and Halanat had been talking about me."

"Speaking of Halanat… Sanasus said he died yesterday. Found
him dead last night. Didn't you go see him yesterday morning?"

"I did. He was the trader, or his wagons were, who was supplying
the prophet. They had the same silver-wheel sign. I found that out.
We exchanged a few words, and then I left. I don't think he was
very happy with me." Again, everything Alucius said was true, but
not the whole truth.

"Must not have been. Word is that he got so angry his heart
stopped."

"It couldn't have happened to anyone who deserved it more,"
Alucius said dryly. "Not that it will stop his son from doing the same
sort of trading if he gets the chance. I also think Tarolt's tied up in it
all, but there's no real proof there. I'll have to look into that before
long."

"Like everything else?"

"What'll you have?" asked Grenna as she stopped at the table.
Despite her obvious physical charms, the server was a woman
barely out of girlhood.

"What do you have?"

"Drinks are same as always—wine, ale, lager. Today, the stew is
boar, better 'n usual. Vedra chicken with the thick noodles. Lamb
cutlets… and lymbyl."

Alucius could do without the lymbyl. "The ale… and… ah… fowl
and noodles."

"Make that two," added Feran. "Ale also."

"Be three coppers for the chicken, and one for the ale."

Alucius showed a silver, leaving it on the table.

"Be back with the ale, sirs." With a nod, Grenna moved away from
the window table.

The day had been long, and Alucius was tired. The chill with the
wristguard bothered him, especially because he didn't know what it
meant or what had happened. The silence surrounding Halanat's
death wasn't all that good, either, he thought. And spring was
coming, with all the possible problems with a Matrite attack. He
looked down at the surface of the table.

"Rather deep in thought, aren't you?" suggested Feran.

"I've been thinking—about a lot of things." Alucius paused. "What
do you think about moving the Guard headquarters to Iron Stem?"

"You want it closer to home?" Feran grinned.

"That makes it harder to do, in a way. It's more because of the way
things have changed. We really don't have to worry about the
Vedra as a boundary, but it takes a day longer to get dispatches
from the west here, and more than a day longer to send supplies
west."

"And you wouldn't have to worry so much about the factors and
their plots."

"I won't be colonel forever," Alucius said. "It would make things
easier for whoever follows me."

"You thinking about riding off?"

"No." Alucius shook his head. "I'm just trying to get things to work
better."

"Your ales, sirs."

Alucius looked up. He'd hadn't noticed Grenna's return—and that
wasn't good. "Thank you." He offered the silver.

"I'll take them when I bring the chicken."

Alucius took a swallow of the ale. He hadn't realized how thirsty
he'd been until he was looking at a half-empty mug.

"Little thirsty there," said Feran.

Alucius looked at Feran's equally depleted mug.

Both men laughed.

Alucius saw Grenna approaching and watched as she set a
crockery platter with a full half chicken and a pile of noodles
smothered in a cream sauce before him, then before Feran, along
with a basket holding two small loaves of still-warm bread.

"Be four coppers each, sirs."

Alucius tendered a silver and a smile. "Thank you—and two more
ales."

She handed back two coppers. Alucius left them on the table.

From the first bite, he liked the chicken. He almost could put aside
his concerns about the ifrits and how to deal with Tarolt. His worries
about Wendra were something else, and he could only hold to the
fact that his herder's wristguard had shown no sign of injury to her.
But he still worried.

Two more mugs of ale arrived before he'd even gotten a third of
the way through the chicken. Alucius sent Grenna off with five
coppers.

"Being colonel, it's not like what you thought, is it?"

"I think I knew, but being colonel is harder than just knowing."

"True of everything," Feran mumbled. "Don't get shot at as much
here."

"Maybe you don't."

"You're the kind that gets shot at everywhere," Feran pointed out.

In time, Alucius and Feran finished their meal and their ale.

As he rose from the table in the tavern that was becoming more
crowded with faces he didn't recognize, Alucius glanced out
through the narrow window onto the darkening and chill street
outside the Red Ram. He left another copper on the table, then
began to walk toward the doorway, followed by Feran.

Alucius nodded and moved aside as two well-garbed men he did
not recognize stepped inside the tavern.

Elyset appeared from the other side of the foyer and smiled at
Alucius. "Have a good evening, Colonel." She offered a broader
smile to Feran. "Majer."

"Thank you, Elyset." Both officers inclined their heads.

As Alucius stepped outside he could hear part of the exchange.

"Colonel… didn't expect to see him here… just him and the
majer…"

"… say he's brave…"

"There's brave, and there's foolish…"

The words didn't exactly help his feelings or his mood as he began
to walk back to his too-empty quarters and a night when he would
sleep restlessly at best, worried about all too many matters, and
especially about Wendra.
Chapter 123

Novdi, as an end day, was a half day at headquarters, but Alucius
was still in his study in early afternoon. Earlier, he'd inspected Fifth
Company, the barracks, the armory, then spent some time with
Feran discussing the possibilities for changing the basing
positions of Northern Guard companies, especially those around
Harmony and those that might be able to provide reinforcements, if
necessary.

He kept checking the wristguard. From what he could tell, Wendra
was fine, but the uncertainty nagged at him.

At Dhaget's knock on the doorframe to his study, where he had left
the door open, Alucius stiffened.

"There's a young fellow here to see you, sir. Says his name's
Korcler."

Alucius could feel a chill run through him, down to his bones. "Have
him come right in." He stood.

The brown-haired youth, a young man almost old enough for
conscription, hurried into the study and began to speak even
before he lurched to a stop on the other side of the desk. "I said
I'd come, Alucius. I've been riding since well before dawn. Brought
two mounts. Your grandsire insisted. That's because…"

"What happened to Wendra? You wouldn't be here otherwise,
would you?"

"No, sir. No one knows, sir. She's just gone. Royalt and Grandpa
Kustyl… they've been searching everywhere. They said you'd
know if she was all right."

"She's alive and healthy, but something happened yesterday
morning," Alucius said. "Before midmorning. No one knows where
she is?"

"No, sir. Your grandsire, he took the flock yesterday," Korcler said.
"Wendra'd been out the two days before. Said she didn't see
anything, not even a sandwolf. Your ma, she came to town. When
she got back in the afternoon, Wendra was gone. So was little
Alendra. No mounts missing. No tracks. Only thing they found was
a bottle, filled with ground quartz, for that lamb born in midwinter. It
was lying on the porch of the equipment building. No goat's milk
with it, just the quartz." Korcler stopped, catching his breath. "Your
grandsire said no one else had been there. Leastwise, there were
no signs. Her herding jacket was still in the house. She… she
just… vanished."

Alucius stepped forward and put a hand on Korcler's shoulder.
"Thank you. I'd worried. I didn't know. I appreciate the long ride,
and your coming to tell me." He didn't know what else to say.
Wendra gone? Vanished? Without a trace? But how? The
questions swirled through his scattered thoughts.

"I didn't want to be the one, but… there wasn't anyone else."
Korcler looked up at Alucius, then fumbled inside his jacket,
coming up with a folded paper. "Your grandsire wanted you to have
this."

Alucius took the paper. For a moment, he looked at it blankly,
before he finally unfolded it, and began to read.

Alucius—

By now, Korcler has told you of Wendra's disappearance. I wanted
you to know that it is most unlikely that she was kidnapped or taken
by riders. There are no hoofprints in either the snow or the dirt, or
even the dust on the porch where she vanished—just some
smudges. There are no signs of boots, and nothing is missing. I
cannot tell you where to seek her, or how, save that it appears
most unlikely that she remains nearby, and likely that Talent will be
required.

Nor do I know if you dare to leave your duties, or if doing so will
prove useful. I do fear that all is connected, but I could not say
why.

All our hopes and thoughts are with you, and with her and Alendra.

The signature was that of Royalt.

Alucius lowered the message.

"What did he say?" asked Korcler.

"What you told me," replied Alucius, his voice heavy. "More or
less."

"What are you going to do?"

"What I have to," Alucius said. "We'll get you settled in my
quarters, and you can ride back in the morning, once your mounts
are rested."

"You're not going to tell me?"

"No. How could I? I'm not even sure." Alucius turned and took his
heavy winter riding jacket, the one doubly reinforced with nightsilk,
off the peg on the wall and pulled it on. "We'll get your mounts into
the stable, and ready mine. You can rest in the guest chamber."

"I can go with you."

"No. Not this time. Your horses are tired, and it wouldn't be a good
idea. Not at all."

"You won't tell me."

Alucius shook his head and motioned for Korcler to leave the
study. "Go on out. I'm right behind you."

In the main area, he looked at Dhaget. "I'll be leaving for my
quarters, Dhaget, after we get young Korcler's mounts stabled for
the night. He's my wife's brother, and he'll be spending the night in
the quarters before he leaves in the morning. You can go now."

"You're sure, sir?"

"You spend more than enough time looking out for me." Alucius
forced a laugh. "Go."

He and Korcler led the two mounts to the officers' end of the stable
and stalled them side by side. After that, Alucius took Korcler up to
the quarters, where he sat the young man at the table in the kitchen
with bread and cheese and some slices of ham shoulder.

Alucius went to his chamber and changed into his riding uniform,
with the new nightsilk undergarments and the new vest under his
tunic, and the heavy winter riding jacket. He also took out both rifles
and his ammunition belt.

"You won't let me go?" Korcler stood in the doorway.

"No. It might not be dangerous, but it could be. You're not trained
for this."

Korcler looked down.

"I should be back later, I'd guess around sunset, but it might be
longer. Just rest until I get back. If… if anything happens, and I
don't get back, you're to ride back to Iron Stem tomorrow. No
matter what. Do you understand?" Alucius projected total
command. "Don't talk to anyone about this except Majer Feran and
my grandsire. No one except those two."

Korcler backed away a step. "Yes, sir. I will, sir."

"Good. Now go back to eating. You haven't had enough."

While Korcler finished eating, Alucius wrote a brief note to Feran,
saying that he was going to investigate something he had heard
about Tarolt and hoped he would not be that long. On his way back
to the stable, he left it on Feran's desk.

Then he made his way to the stable, where he saddled the
chestnut. In less than a quarter glass he was riding out the gates.

"You're going out alone, sir?" asked the sentry, a lancer from Fifth
Company whose name and face he couldn't put together.

"Just for the afternoon."

"Yes, sir."

As he turned westward, Alucius considered whether he should
have left a note for Royalt with Korcler. He decided that his
decision not to was the right one. If… if Tarolt was an ifrit, there
was little Royalt could or should do. If not, Alucius should be back
before long.

He wasn't certain, but he couldn't afford to wait to be certain. He
worried that he'd already delayed too long. The more he'd thought,
the more he felt that the ifrits had to have something to do with both
the problems with the prophet and the Matrites and the
torques—and with Wendra's disappearance. The most disturbing
thought was that somehow he had created the problem. The
morning after he'd killed Halanat, Wendra had vanished. That
coincidence seemed unlikely. Far too unlikely, and that meant he
had to act quickly, especially since he hadn't, but then, he
reminded himself, he hadn't known that Wendra had vanished.
He'd fretted that something had been wrong, but hadn't even
guessed that.

From Elyset's directions, he could doubtless find Tarolt's
place—but then what could he do? He wasn't certain, but the
puzzlement that Halanat had expressed was a good indication that
the ifrit-possessed trader had been surprised at Alucius's
appearance. That, in turn, suggested that he had not known about
Wendra's disappearance—or had not connected it to Alucius. But
Halanat had clearly recognized Alucius. Then again, Alucius had no
idea whether Tarolt was also ifrit-possessed, although it seemed
likely, but from what Alucius had gathered, Tarolt was the real
power behind the traders, and he might well not have told anyone if
he had acted against Wendra, nor talked about anything else he
might have done.

There were so many unanswered questions. What if more than the
one ifrit had been behind the attempted assassination after Alucius
had first left the Northern Guard? What if Tarolt had also been
involved? But what if he hadn't? Then who else could have been,
and how could Alucius discover who the others were? What if they
were not responsible for Wendra's disappearance?

He shook his head. There had to be a link… somewhere…
somehow.

Perhaps he could learn more by following Tarolt, at least for a time,
or by spying on his actions or his household.

He continued to ride westward. After a quarter vingt or so, he
turned the chestnut left onto another street, continuing southward.
He rode less than half a vingt, past a mixture of older dwellings and
shops, until the street ended at the river road.

He followed it westward, along the southern edge of the low bluffs
overlooking the River Vedra, and before long, on his right, the
houses gave way to cots, and then the cots vanished. Beyond
were overgrazed and snow-dotted meadows with sparse and
scattered trees, lands that sloped downhill in rolling rills to the
north. To his left were the rugged and rocky slopes that dropped to
the river.

Almost a vingt ahead he could see the point of land that Elyset had
mentioned—a triangular bluff that jutted southward into the path of
the river, so that the river curved around it before once more
returning to its westward course. The road did not follow the edge
of the bluff as before, but cut directly across the flat. A second
road, more like a lane, veered to the left and toward the single
walled dwelling set just north of the apex of the point. From the rear
of the dwelling, Tarolt must have had a marvelous view of the river,
which lay a good fifty yards below, and of the lower hills on the far
side of the Vedra. Another half vingt beyond the walled complex
were the blackened remains of another large dwelling.

As Alucius rode closer to the point, he glanced around, searching
for some position from where he could observe the bluff and the
single dwelling, one where he could rest the chestnut and from
which neither he nor his mount could be seen. More than a hundred
yards ahead, Alucius could discern a line of scrub bushes and
several low, winter-bare trees, possibly lining the sides of a wash
or dry streambed. While it was farther from Tarolt's than he would
have preferred, there did not look to be anything closer that offered
any cover.

The vegetation that rose out of the scattered snow and winter-
browned grass did indeed mark a dry streambed nearly ten yards
wide in spots and three to four in depth. Unfortunately, Alucius had
to follow it almost fifty yards north of where it ran under a narrow
timber bridge to find enough cover for both him and the chestnut.
After tethering his mount to a thick root in a flatter section of the
wash, Alucius took a swallow from a water bottle—one of a
pair—before slipping one of the heavy rifles from its saddle holder
and easing his way back southward along the wash. He found a
spot some twenty yards north of the main road, where he could
peer through the sparse branches of a scrub oak and see both the
road and Tarolt's dwelling.

As he studied the dwelling, the portion of it he could see above the
stone wall, Alucius could sense a haziness to the air, a purplish fog
unseen to the eye but all too clear to his Talent-senses. The
intensity of the purpleness suggested to him that either Tarolt was
ifrit-possessed or that there were others in the dwelling who were.

After perhaps a quarter glass he shifted his weight, wondering if
his vigil would prove fruitless. How long should he wait? Finally, he
decided that, if no one left the dwelling, once darkness fell, he
would move closer to see what else he might be able to discover.

Just as he reaffirmed that decision mentally, he saw the gate in the
wall surrounding the dwelling open. Four men rode out, and a pair
of guards on foot closed the gates behind them.

Alucius waited as the four riders came northeast along the lane,
and then turned eastward on the river road back toward Dekhron.
As they neared the bridge over the small wash, through the
branches of the scrub oak, Alucius could see that only one wore
black and was white-haired—presumably Tarolt, although the black
was that of a heavy coat.

Even from close to thirty yards away, at a single Talent-glance,
Alucius could see that Tarolt was not a man possessed by an ifrit.
He was an ifrit. He did not have two lifethreads, with the purpled
one dominating one anchored in Corus. Tarolt's single lifethread
was an ugly dark purple, stretching somewhere to the southeast.
Did it run to a Table?

With Alucius's concentration on Tarolt, it was a moment before he
realized something else. Not only was Tarolt an ifrit, but so was the
dark-haired man in a maroon riding jacket who rode beside him.
Like Tarolt, he had a single purple lifethread running to the
southeast.

Alucius's fingers tightened around the rifle, but he did not lift it,
much as he was tempted. He needed to find Wendra far more than
he needed to kill ifrits. And that was assuming that he could kill
them.

Once the four were well past him, Alucius eased his way back up
the wash to where he had left the chestnut. He waited a time longer
before he mounted and set out to follow the riders. He doubted he
would have too much trouble, not when his Talent could pick up the
purpleness from over a vingt away.

The men whom Alucius followed remained on the river road all the
way into Dekhron. As they entered the outskirts of the trading town,
Alucius eased the chestnut closer, although he fretted that the four
might realize that someone was following them. Tarolt and his party
stayed on the river road, riding past the warehouses and wharves
on the river, not turning until they reached the causeway that
crossed the Vedra and led into Salaan.

Once across the ancient eternastone bridge, the four continued
past the lane just on the south side of the bridge, the lane that led
to the Southern Guard fort.

When Alucius passed the lane, a good half vingt behind Tarolt, he
looked to his left at the dilapidated and abandoned fort. As he
continued through Salaan, he glanced at the narrow-windowed
houses. It seemed to him that every time he passed through, they
looked even poorer than the time before, and certainly more run-
down than the first time he had been there more than two years
earlier, on his way home from Tempre and his previous encounter
with the ifrit-possessed Recorder of Deeds.

Slightly farther southward, Tarolt turned west on a road almost as
wide as the eternastone highway but constructed of winter-
hardened clay that led, as Alucius recalled, to the bluff on the south
side of the river that held the few traders' dwellings in Salaan.

After more than a vingt, the riders turned left, down a lane that split
a stand of apricot trees, toward a low ridge south of the sprawling
orchard. Alucius hung back even farther before following.

When he finally reached the southernmost part of the orchard, he
reined up the chestnut beside one of the last apricot trees and
looked ahead. Less than a hundred yards away, at the end of the
lane, he could make out a squat stone building set on the lowest
point of the saddle between two modest ridges. Snow had drifted
against the north side of the building in places, and the limestone
blocks took on a greater purplish hue with each moment that
Alucius studied them. To the northwest were a stable and an
outbuilding, both of timber and plank.

As he watched, with eyes and Talent, another figure stepped from
the stone building to greet the four riders. Tarolt made an abrupt
gesture, and the group split, the two ifrits and the one who had
greeted them going into the squat building, the guards waiting with
the mounts. Alucius could sense that at least two of the lifethreads
were anchored within the structure. That meant that the building
most certainly held a Table. But the structure was relatively new.
Were the ifrits constructing more Tables? Was there one in the
north through which Wendra had been taken or captured?

Since he had no answers, Alucius continued to watch.

A single stable boy or ostler appeared, and the guards followed
him with all the mounts, taking them into the long, shedlike stable.
After a time, the three left the stable and entered the other
outbuilding. Before long, the dusty open space before the stone
building looked deserted, with neither grooms nor guards.

Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle. There were at least five
men there, and at least two were ifrits—and the ifrits were in a
building that most likely housed a new Table.

Now… what was he going to do?
Chapter 124
Salaan, Lanachrona

The three figures sat around a circular table in the anteroom off the
Table chamber. Despite the chill radiating from the north-facing
walls, the penetrating heat from the stove set against the outside
wall made the room more than pleasantly warm. A decanter of wine
on a silver tray was equidistant from the crystal goblets set before
Tarolt and the Recorder, and a tray of cheeses and fruit rested in
the precise center of the table. Sensat sat beside Tarolt, also with
a goblet before him.

"The herder-colonel is somewhere nearby. I can sense him," Tarolt
said mildly, pausing to take another small swallow of the red wine.
"He was watching the house on the point, and then he followed us."

"You let him?" asked Sensat. "He could have shot at us. He could
have injured someone, or killed one of the guards."

"Let him? I tried to project enough vulnerability that he would follow
us. Besides, had he decided to attack, he would have waited until
nightfall and slipped into the compound. He wanted to know where
we were going. And why, I would judge. Curiosity is a fatal flaw with
most Talent-steers."

"He may be more than that," suggested the Recorder.

"That is hardly likely, my dear Trezun," replied Tarolt.

"Are you sure it is the colonel? Could it not be an ancient one?
Their threads are also green." The Recorder set his goblet on the
polished wood.

"The ancient ones seldom come this far south. But… does it
matter? We must deal with both, and we have the means to do
so… now."

Both Sensat and Tarolt smiled; the Recorder did not.

"Have you determined whether any of the inactive Tables can be
reactivated?" asked Tarolt several moments later.

"The one in Blackstear is in perfect condition. It will take but one
translation from here or another Table."

"That one has little use except to strengthen the node grid. What
else?" inquired Tarolt.

"The Table in Soupat will require someone to travel there
physically, but its repair will be relatively quick."

"Could we not try a translation to it?" asked Sensat.

Trezun shrugged. "We could, but that is risky to whoever is being
translated. Would you like to try a translation there?"

"Ah… we could arrange for a trading trip there," mused Sensat.
"Sometime."

"I hesitate to send an Efran when we're still so hard-pressed."
Trezun frowned, his fingers stroking the crystal stem of the goblet
before him. "Especially with Waleryn being alone in Norda without
a fully working Table."

"I thought he had the Table in Norda working," Tarolt said.

"He can communicate, but not translate," Trezun explained. "The
cold affected some of the crystals. It will be a few more days, he
says."

"You see?" asked Tarolt. "He is working with all the resources of
Lustrea behind him, and it may be almost a year to reactivate one
Table and reconstruct another. That is why I asked about the
inactive Tables. How else can we build a fully functioning node grid
quickly? Even if it takes half a season, that will be far less time than
building a Table from nothing at another nodal matrix. And that
does not count travel time." Tarolt glanced toward the window on
the north side of the room.

"But the Soupat Table, like the one in Blackstear, is useful only in
supporting the strength of the entire grid," observed Trezun.

"We will need all the strength that we can build," replied Tarolt.
"Remember… there are twenty-three thousand Efrans who expect
to make the long translation…"

"The population here is not large enough to support that many,"
murmured Sensat. "Not without tapping the world itself."

"The fieldmasters know already that the support limit is between
five and seven thousand," replied Tarolt. "So you can count
yourself lucky that you are already here."

Trezun nodded politely. "Whatever the number, we will be ready."

"Why is it that those Tables that are the easiest to reestablish are
the most remote?" Sensat snorted, going on before the other two
could reply, "I know. That is precisely why. They are so remote that
no one suspected they were there, or that they retained power."

"Exactly," agreed Trezun with a laugh.

"Now that the Table in Prosp is operating, if Waleryn can
reconstruct a Table in Norda, and we can send someone to
repower the one in Soupat, we could rebuild the Table in Dereka,
could we not?" Sensat looked to Trezun. "The location still retains
enough energy and identification to be a portal, even if it is not so
powerful as the one at Hieron."

"The portal in Hieron is an anomaly. Only a fully translated Efran
can use it, as you know, and most infrequently. We cannot spend
the effort and energy on portals, not when we need Tables."

"We need to make deliberate haste, then," added Sensat.

"Deliberate haste? That has been the watchword for years."

"We have less time than we thought," Tarolt replied. "Fieldmaster
Lasylt has calculated that the translation tubes will endure no more
than another five years at most. That is when the nebular field webs
will reach the underspace clear-lines linking Efra to Acorus."

"Another curse upon the ancient ones," muttered Trezun.

"We were fortunate that they were not stronger," Tarolt said. "At
least their barriers have been weakened enough that we can
resume our work. Would that our brethren on Efra truly understood
the urgency."

"They fear leaving the warmth and comfort of Efra, and they do not
wish to be the ones to deal with the cold and the crudeness of
Acorus," Trezun observed.

"Let someone else make the sacrifices," Tarolt snorted. "That's
how they feel. We have, and we will reap the benefits."

"What about the tubes to Ejernyt?" asked Sensat.

"Twenty years at best," interjected Trezun. "Ejernyt will not be
ready for colonization for at least a hundred years, but we can
continue that effort from here on Acorus."

"That means finding and removing the ancient ones," Sensat said.

"And their tools—like the colonel outside," suggested Tarolt,
smiling coolly.

"What do you suggest?" inquired Trezun.

"He has a curiosity about Tables. We should let him see a fully
functioning one—one with a single translation tube directed to
Soupat." The white-haired ifrit trader laughed. "That will solve two
problems."

The other two nodded. After a moment, a crooked smile crossed
the lips of the Recorder.
Chapter 125

Alucius had tied the chestnut to one of the trees farther back in the
apricot orchard, taken his topmost rifle, and eased forward from
tree to tree until he stood just behind one of the trees closest to
the stone building and the surrounding outbuildings. While he
studied the stone building for close to half a glass, he saw no one
outside, and it did not appear that anyone would be leaving.

He didn't like the idea of approaching the Table building, not with
the ifrits within, but perhaps he could learn something from the
outbuildings and even overhear what the guards and the ostler
might be saying. He could wait forever, but if there were ifrits
holding Wendra, he dared not wait long. They might try to possess
her the way they had Halanat and the Recorder of Deeds in
Tempre. He'd tried not to think about that, but he couldn't avoid it,
not after what he had seen in the last few glasses.

He waited a bit longer, then slipped westward from tree to tree,
careful not to step in the patches of snow, until he was directly
opposite the stable. From where he now stood, even the apricot
tree behind which he had placed himself could not be seen from
the stone building, shielded as it was by the stable and another
outbuilding.

He took a deep breath, then concentrated, pressing the darkness
of lifeforce into the five cartridges in the magazine of the rifle. He
did not try that with the fifteen cartridges in the leather loops of his
heavy belt. With his sabre at his side and the heavy rifle in his
hand, he hurried across the winter-flattened brown grasses of the
meadow toward the stable. The back of the stable had no
windows—just a blank timber wall that had been painted within the
last year. So long as no one left any of the other buildings, he
would be out of view.

Once close to the stable wall, he listened, but could hear nothing
as he made his way westward. When he reached the end of the
stable, he turned the corner and darted along the side wall, then
across the open ground to the rear of the next building, one that
looked almost like a barracks, with high windows. He kept close to
the planked wall, moving back eastward until he was underneath a
high window, open but a narrow crack.

When he could hear voices, he paused to listen, trying to sort out
the words.

"… how long, you figure?"

"… could be a couple of glasses… less once in a while…"

"What do they do in there?"

"… can't say as I know. Mostly talk. Don't talk like most folk,
either… use words no one else does."

"Like Madrien or nomad?"

"Not like that. They'll be talking just like us, and then they use
strange words. Sound normal, but they're not."

"Like what?"

"How would I know? They're strange. Take my word for it."

There was a round of laughter.

"… spend most your time with the horses…"

"They're better company… that Trezun… something odd about
him… now… the mare… like to get her bred to Durwad's stallion…
foal'd be something… said that to Trezun… told me breeding was
important in everything… be especially important in years to
come… laughed when he said it. Didn't seem funny to me…"

"… that girl… Kara… she ever come back?"

Alucius continued to listen, but the guards and ostler kept talking
about horses and women, and finally he edged to the corner of the
building, where he chanced a glance at the limestone structure that
his Talent-senses told him had to house the Table—or something
like it. The building was as much dug into the low hills as built upon
them, so much so that the rear wall of the structure rose out of the
hill and the roof tiles at the rear were but a yard or so above the hill.
From what he'd learned in Tempre, that confirmed his belief that
the structure held a Table.

He watched for a time, with intermittent glances around the corner.
Almost half a glass later, as the sun touched the western horizon,
the door to the Table building opened, and Tarolt and two other
ifrits walked outside. They turned onto a path that angled
northwest, in front of the outbuildings, and in the direction of the
River Vedra.

While he wondered where they were going and why in the evening
chill, Alucius waited until the three were a good hundred yards from
the Table building before he concentrated on making himself
seem like only a vagrant breeze before he stepped from behind
the outbuilding and walked quickly southward.

There were no yells or shouts, and none of the ifrits even turned.

When Alucius opened the door to the Table building and stepped
inside, he could sense the presence of a Table, one seemingly
more powerful than either of those he had encountered before.
Rifle in hand, he glanced around the entry hall. The foyer was
hexagonal—and empty—with two double doors leading from it.

Both doors were wide-open, and Alucius stepped through the
archway to the right, which led into a conference room. A tray with a
few small wedges of cheese and half an apple remained in the
center of the table, and to one side was a crystal decanter half-
filled with a red wine. There were three empty crystal goblets on
the table, and warmth flowed from the stove against the wall, but
Alucius could discern no one nearby. The sense of the Table was
far stronger, clearly emanating from beyond the archway on the far
side of the room. On the walls were light-torches, and not ancient
remnants of the Duarchy, but ones recently fabricated. The sight of
them chilled Alucius.

He eased around the conference table and toward the archway,
totally alert, but he neither heard nor sensed anyone. As he
stepped through the archway, Alucius found himself in another
small foyer, with a staircase headed downward. At the foot of the
staircase, he could see a door, slightly ajar. His Talent sensed a
well of purpleness beyond the door, but nothing resembling an
ifrit—or a guard.

After a momentary hesitation, he started down the stairs, as quietly
as possible, trying not to let his heavy boots resound on the stone
steps.

The Table room was empty.

Alucius stepped inside, glancing at the Table, a solid structure with
its sides covered in dark wood, running a yard and a third in width
and length, and a yard in height. As he had expected, the entire
surface was composed of a shimmering mirror. The Table looked
to be slightly larger than those Alucius had seen before.

After a glance over his shoulder, he stepped closer to the Table,
studying it with both eyes and Talent. Up close, the sheer power
and presence of the Table was far greater than had been the case
with the one in Tempre. Alucius frowned. The Table had to be
new—or, at most, constructed within the past two years.

Alucius suddenly felt the presence of an ifrit—as if the room
around him had filled with an even deeper shade of purple,
although that was merely a sensation received through his Talent.

He turned quickly.

The white-haired Tarolt stood in the doorway, blocking any escape,
and the power of the ifrit filled the doorway, a shimmering cloak of
purple radiance. "Your attempts at illusion are useless."

Alucius released the breeze illusion. "I thought you'd gone…"

"Appearances can be deceiving. You of all Talent-steers should
know that." The air wavered around Tarolt, and instead of a white-
haired trader, there stood an ifrit of the type depicted in the ancient
wall pictures of Deforya—and in Alucius's dreams—a figure a
good head taller than Alucius with flawless alabaster skin, broad
shoulders, shining black hair, and deep violet eyes. He wore a tunic
and trousers of brilliant green, both trimmed in a deep purple, and
his boots shimmered as if they were silvered black, so highly
polished were they.

"I had no doubts of what you are," Alucius replied, trying to
calculate how best to deal with the ifrit. After he learned what he
could.

"Then… even what is may be deceiving," said the ifrit who was or
had been Tarolt.

A section of stone wall to the right of Tarolt slid open, and a
second ifrit stepped into the Table chamber.

"You seem to know so much," offered Alucius. "Tell me why I'm
here."

"Curiosity… a fatal flaw of your kind," suggested the Tarolt-ifrit.

"You don't know much if that's what you think," Alucius snorted. "I
already know about your kind. The great ifrits of the past… the
sandoxes and the pteridons, and none of it was enough to prevent
the soarers from thwarting you."

" 'Efran' is a more accurate term, in so far as definitions are ever
accurate," replied the second ifrit.

"Efran or ifrit…" Alucius forced a shrug. "Sooner or later someone
was going to ask about all the strange deaths of traders."

"If they did? What would they discover?" Tarolt smiled and took a
step toward Alucius.

"That they shouldn't have died, not all in the same year." The
colonel stepped back and to his left, so that the Table was
between him and the two ifrits.

"Death happens to you mortals. Does it matter when?"

"It does if it alerts people to your schemes."

"Who else would even care? Your people are more concerned
about food, golds, and how to procure women and other
pleasures."

"Not all of them."

"Most of them, and there are few enough like you that you can be
converted or otherwise taken care of. Or used in other fashions."

"That doesn't include the disappearances of herders," Alucius
pointed out. "Especially in the north."

The momentary hesitation of Tarolt and the actual fleeting look of
puzzlement on the face of the shorter ifrit told Alucius that the two
knew nothing about disappearances. If anything, there was a
moment of concern.

"The wild translations will feed and destroy what they find," the
second ifrit said. "Surely, you do not think that any but herders will
fret about a few missing nightsheep?"

Alucius suppressed a nod.

The purplish mists thickened around Tarolt and a pair of Talent-
arms appeared, moving through the air toward Alucius.

He brought up the heavy rifle with a smooth motion. He squeezed
the trigger, then recocked and fired again.

The Tarolt-ifrit staggered backward, but straightened almost
immediately. Alucius fired two more shots at the second and
smaller ifrit. The colonel sensed the shredding of the purple shield
around the smaller creature, and fired his last shot, following with a
Talent-probe, aimed at the main lifethread node.

A flare of purpled energy exploded away from the stricken ifrit—a
wave of force that flung Alucius against the stone wall behind him.
He barely managed to hang on to his rifle, and it was several
moments before he could see through the watering of his eyes.
There was no sign of the second ifrit—none at all.

Alucius could see that even Tarolt had been driven to one side of
the Table room, but the ifrit had already regained his footing and
turned back toward Alucius. A blast of purplish force flared toward
the herder colonel.

Alucius managed to block-parry it and send forth a Talent-probe.
The ifrit slapped it aside, and another wave of force slammed into
Alucius's chest, driving him back against the wall once more. He
struggled forward, wishing he'd brought a second rifle. The
darkness-infused shells had at least driven Tarolt back.

Breathing hard, he formed a Talent-probe and drove its golden
green force toward the ifrit's lifethread node.

The probe shattered into a spray of greenish gold, and Tarolt took
another step toward Alucius.

He circled around the Table and away from the ifrit.

"You will serve your masters, Talent-steer—one way or another,"
stated Tarolt.

Alucius sensed two pairs of pinkish purple arms—one from the ifrit
and the second from the Table—growing and moving to encircle
him.

The herder created his own shield to ward off the arms, even while
jabbing another Talent-probe at the arms coming from the Table.

The arms from the Table shattered into a spray of purple.

With a satisfied nod, Tarolt moved farther into the room.

Alucius eased around the Table, hoping to make a dash for either
the main door or the passageway through which the second ifrit
had appeared.

At that moment, a third ifrit appeared in the main doorway.

"You see… you cannot escape."

Alucius scrambled onto the Table, willing himself beyond the
glassy surface.

"Then you will serve us in another—"

Tarolt's voice was cut off.

Purplish blackness swirled around Alucius, bearing him away from
a dark green arrow. The blackness was that bone-chilling cold that
he had hoped never to brave again. He could neither move his
body nor see, except with his Talent. Even worse, unlike his earlier
experiences, when he had been able to direct his course with his
Talent, he felt as though he were being propelled in one direction,
as though in a tight tube, much like an underground and lightless
stream might have been. The chill was more intense than winter
below the Aerial Plateau.

He tried again to use his Talent-senses to guide him, to visualize a
long thin line of golden green, a guideline of lifeforce to orient him,
but he was carried onward through the intense cold that seeped
into every part of his body. He tried to reach out for the directions
and the arrows that signified Tables, or the golden green triangular
arrows that represented the portals of the hidden city. He could
sense none of them, only a distant sullen red arrow toward which
he was rushing.

More immediately before him, between him and the red arrow, he
could sense a black purple barrier, and he knew he was being
hurled at it. He wanted to swallow, to protest, as he understood
what Tarolt had meant by his serving the ifrits.

Alucius tried to gather all his lifeforce into an arrowlike shield
before him, one with a point that would penetrate the barrier he was
approaching and yet protect him.

He slammed into the black barrier, and his entire body
convulsed—or it felt that way—as if he had fallen from a cliff onto a
stone surface.

Abruptly, silver and light flashed around him.

Alucius found himself standing on a flat surface, but hunched over.
Agony flared through his entire body, and, convulsively, he jerked
upright. His head banged against something hard—so hard that he
almost dropped the heavy rifle. Where he stood was lit, but so
dimly that for a time he could make out nothing.

He was shivering, and his entire body felt bruised. Yet his forehead
was sweating so heavily that he had to blot his eyes with his sleeve
to keep the perspiration from flowing into his eyes. His arms and
shoulders twitched, and his calves threatened to cramp. Sharp
pains ran through his skull, either from his trip between Tables or
from the blow to his head.

His eyes focused more.

The faint glow came from a pair of light-torches—set in curved
silvery brackets and flanking a door. As his eyes adjusted, he saw
that the door had buckled inward. After a moment, he eased his
way off the Table. Then he turned and studied it with his Talent-
sense, trying to ignore the increased stabbing in his skull created
by that effort.

Even as he watched, the purpleness that infused the Table grew
more pronounced. It was clearly a working Table… now. That also
bothered him, because it meant that there were probably more
Tables throughout Corus—and more ifrits.

After taking another glance at the Table, Alucius stepped toward
the buckled door, the only apparent exit. Through the distended
and splintered oak, and the gaps in the timbers that had comprised
the door, Alucius could see that whatever room or hall that had lain
beyond it was filled with large building stones and broken stone
columns. There might have been space for a scrat to wiggle
through, but certainly not for a man. Whatever structure had held
the Table had collapsed—or been collapsed—over the Table's
room, as if to deny it to anyone from outside. Had the soarers
managed that during the Cataclysm? Or had someone else done it
later? Did it matter?

He slowly surveyed the room, clearly either underground or buried,
or both. There were no furnishings in the chamber except for the
Table and a narrow chest set against one wall. He could see no
other way out except through the blocked doorway. Still… there
might be another passageway like the one in the Matrial's Palace or
the one in the ifrits' Table room.

Span by span, yard by yard, Alucius made his way along the stone
walls of the chamber, but neither his eyes nor fingers, nor his
Talent, could discover any other exit, although he had looked
closely, especially behind the chest. Finally, he stood on the
opposite side of the buckled door from where he had begun.

He looked back at the Table once more. The purple glow
remained, neither greater nor less than before. With an occasional
glance at the Table, he moved back toward the ornately carved
chest set against the stone side wall.

There was nothing on the smooth wood of the surface, not even
that much dust. He opened the top drawer. Inside was empty. He
closed the drawer, and opened the second drawer. Except for
several sheets of parchment or paper, it was also empty. Alucius
reached for the paper, but as his fingers touched it, the paper
fragmented into dust so fine that Alucius's nose began to itch.

For a time, he found himself sneezing, his eyes watering.

He glanced back at the Table, but no one… nothing… appeared.

He went back to the chest, pulling out every drawer and looking
under and behind each. He found nothing more except fragments
that might once have been paper.

Then he studied the doorway, but the stones had been packed in
so tightly against the ancient and heavy wood, wood that still
retained its strength, that he could not budge either the door or any
of the stone protrusions.

As he had feared, there was no way out of the chamber except
through the Table. At least, there was no way that he could find.

He turned and looked once more at the ancient Table, a dark cube
rising out of darker stone and suffused with the purpled life-energy
stolen from who knew where. Could he reenter the Table and
transport himself elsewhere? His lungs felt tight, and he had to
wonder how long the air in the chamber would last.

Or were his lungs tight because he feared he was truly trapped?

He tried not to think about Wendra, or about how easily Tarolt had
manipulated him.

He looked at the Table.

After a moment, he began to reload the heavy rifle, thinking that he
should have done so earlier, and infused the cartridges with
darkness. After doing that, he felt even more light-headed as he
climbed onto the Table and concentrated. The surface beneath
him dissolved.

Once more, Alucius hurtled downward into the chill purple
blackness, but this time there was no current or force driving him.
After a timeless instant, he could also sense the arrowlike markers
or guides that he recalled—except that there was no sign of those
of golden green or silver—the guideways to the hidden city. He
could easily sense the dark purple conduits, conduits leading to
something far worse than anything on Corus. That he knew without
knowing how he knew.

He tried seeking beyond the tube of chill purple blackness, but
could sense nothing. Were the soarers gone? Or were there so
few that they could no longer maintain their own portals?

With his Talent, he studied the markers—far more than he recalled.
There was one of an ancient-looking sullen red over blackish
purple, but that, he felt, was the one for where he had already just
been. Another was of maroon and dark green, the Table that Tarolt
had used to throw Alucius against the barrier. Alucius had the
feeling he had been a tool to reopen the Table in the underground
chamber, but he had no idea why, since that Table hardly seemed
usable.

He struggled to focus his attention on the remaining arrow markers.
One was silver, a silver he recalled from his encounter with the ifrit
engineer. That wouldn't do, because his departure had brought the
walls down around that Table chamber as well. If the chamber had
been rebuilt, then there would be more ifrits in it. If it hadn't, he'd be
trapped in another underground place. Another marker was a
shining cold black, a narrow threadlike arrow that bespoke little use,
if any.

With a mind becoming increasingly slow and muddled, he Talent-
groped toward the black disused thread, mind-levering himself
toward whatever portal or Table it represented.

Once more, he hurtled toward a barrier, but one of thin blackness
thai sprayed away as he smashed into and through it.

There was more darkness… but fresh air, if chill.

That was all Alucius could recognize before his legs buckled, and
he fell into oblivion.
Chapter 126
The Hidden City, Corus

In the amber-walled tower room, he soarer hovered before
Wendra—holding the scrat before the herder.

Wendra looked quietly at the creature known to be terribly shy and
skittish, It rested motionless in the palm of the soarer's hand, its
head cocked, its eyes on Wendra, not paying attention to the child
in the carrypack.

Use your Talent. Study its lifethread, but do not touch the thread
with your Talent. It is very frail compared to you.

Wendra took the slightest of breaths, letting her Talent observe the
scrat.

Look at the nodes. Those are where the threads twist together.

Wendra stiffened, looking down at the black stone of the herder's
ring she wore. The sharp chill that had jabbed through her finger
was gone, as suddenly as it had come.

She looked at the soarer. "Something happened to Alucius."

It is likely that he translated himself somewhere, using a Table of
the ifrits.

"Translated?"

That is how the ifrits travel, both from their base world and also
across Corns. They must have Tables or portals at the beginning
and at the end of their journeys. Even so, world lifeforces change
images. You see the ifrits as the world translates them, and were
you on their world you would not appear as you do now. Enough…
you must learn more about life itself not Tables. The Tables mean
little.

"I thought Alucius had destroyed the Tables."

He destroyed one that had already been weakened, and buried
another. One of the ifrits has regained access to that Table and is
rebuilding another. They have also repowered other Tables. The
"voice" of the soarer sounded tired. Forget the Tables. There is so
little time. So little…

"So little time?" asked Wendra.

You must learn about the nodes. They are the key to all that you
must do.

"Alucius might need me."

He might indeed, but you can do nothing to help him until you learn.
Observe the scrat.

"How will this help?"

Unless you understand how to untwine the lifeforce of the ifrits, and
their massive threads, they will brush you aside as the frailest of
butterflies, as the most short-lived of moths. Your Alucius thought
his efforts were sufficient. They were not. He ignored the signs on
his stead as well.

"You expected him to stand watch over something he knew nothing
about? When you did nothing? You expected him to guard all
Corus? To have no life at all? "

We have done all we could. You would not be, and your world
would be long since drained and dead, had we not acted long
years past. We have taken only what was necessary. We did not
destroy a world to build cities that will endure forever on lifeless
lands. We did what was best for both ourselves and for others.
From that forbearance, we have never recovered. Do not speak to
me of how one should live a life. We will not live that much longer,
no matter who triumphs. If those who can stop evil do not act, then
it will triumph. That those with ability are called upon is unfair. The
able must always do more. The universe cares nothing for
fairness. Beliefs do not matter. Only what is done or not done
matters. You and your mate can choose to act against the ifrits.
You can choose not to act. Acting without the knowledge you need
to change what otherwise will be is futile. How can you help your
mate if you know even less than he does?

Wendra could not refute those last words, much as she wanted to,
much as she felt Alucius needed her. Nor could she refute the fact
that the soarer would not help unless she cooperated. She took a
long and slow breath and concentrated on the small creature the
soarer held.

Observe the scrat once more.
Chapter 127

Once more, Alucius found himself on a flat surface, except he was
sprawled half across it, and the Table—if it was a Table—was
sucking the very heat out of his body. His chest was numb from the
chill. With an effort, he rolled sideways. That movement split his
skull with an internal thunderclap and sent lines of fire down his
arms and legs that left his vision blurring and his entire body
shaking. He took a slow breath, then another.

Even after remaining still for a time, his vision was still blurred, his
eyes watering, and every part of his body ached.

Was that because he'd burst through two barriers, one practically
after another? Or just from the strain of traveling through the dark
tubes?

After a moment, he eased himself into a sitting position, although
his knees ended up higher than his thighs because there was dirt
or rubble piled around what he thought was a Table. There was no
light where he was, but he felt that he was in an enclosure of some
sort. The room was cold, chill—and dark—but the darkness didn't
feel like the previous chamber that had held the buried Table, and
there was a definite icy wind filtering in from somewhere.

Alucius slowly moved his head, trying to make out something in the
blackness. He stopped. There was an oblong almost directly
before him that seemed somehow like a lighter patch in the
darkness. He eased himself to his feet, still holding the heavy rifle,
and gingerly stepped toward what he hoped was an archway or
doorway, or even a window. His boots sank into an oozy substance
that felt partly frozen. An acrid odor of decaying vegetation rose in
the chill air. Carefully, the herder took one step after another,
crossing close to three yards of uneven, unsteady footing until he
stood just short of the opening in the dark stone wall.

A doorway of sorts it was indeed, with stone pillars and a lintel. The
bottom of the doorway was filled with rubble that had been covered
with dirt and possibly moss or something else. He felt the stone,
polished into a glassy finish, and with cracks in only a few places.
There did not seem to have been a door, not from the smooth-
finished edges of the stone.

He studied the corridor beyond the doorway, somewhat lighter,
enough that he could make out an incline leading straight ahead
and up. It might have been a gradual ramp, although the ramp or
steps were covered with dirt.

Before leaving the Table chamber, he glanced back over his
shoulder at the Table. Like the previous one, it had also begun to
show a purple glow visible only through his Talent. With that glow,
he could tell that it was half-buried in dirt and debris.

He turned back and began to make his way up the ramp. Halfway
up, on the left side, there was a gap in the stonework, chest high
and almost as wide, through which the wind gusted. Alucius peered
through the gap. Overhead, through a break in the roof or ceiling,
Alucius could see stars, and they looked familiar, as they might
from Iron Stem.

He wanted to shake his head. Of course it was dark. With all the
hours he had spent in the one buried Table chamber and the time
when he had been unconscious, wherever he was now, the sun
had set a long time back. He couldn't help a slight smile at the
thought that at least he wasn't trapped underground. Alucius kept
climbing the ramp until he reached what he thought might be the
ground level of the ruined building. At the top of the ramp, he stood
in an antechamber or foyer. Directly ahead of him was a stone wall,
with some sort of carving or drawing, but the light was far too dim
for even his sight to make it out. To the right and the left were
archways. A massive tree trunk had fallen and blocked the archway
to the right. Under the trunk were sections and fragments of stone.

Alucius moved slowly though the remaining archway into a long
hallway lined with columns. The roof above the columns appeared
relatively solid.

Miniature lights or stars flashed before his eyes, and for a moment,
he felt weak and dizzy. He stopped and put out a hand to one of
the columns to steady himself. For a time, he just stood there, sore
and tired and disoriented, various thoughts spinning through his
mind.

As little as two years before, he would not have been so shocked
at the happenings of the day. But after returning to the
comparatively peaceful life of a herder, and then the seasons of
battle and riding, it was hard to believe that he was back dealing
with ifrits and Tables. Or was that because he wished he were not?

He'd tried to escape the power of Tarolt and been thrown through a
Table barrier and ended up nearly buried alive. Trying to escape
that fate had led him through another barrier to somewhere else
dark and cold, to yet another abandoned Table. Yet his actions, or
the power of the ifrits—or both—had rejuvenated Tables that had
been dead or inactive.

The ifrits were far more powerful than he'd believed, and he still
had no idea who had taken Wendra or where she might be. From
what little he had observed, the ifrits he'd encountered hadn't
seemed to know. They'd seemed disconcerted or uninterested in
the idea of herder disappearances. Alucius also had gotten the
feeling that there were far more ifrits in Corus than he'd seen. Far
more.

Another flash of dizziness confirmed that he needed to get some
rest… or he'd end up sprawled out somewhere else, with perhaps
even more serious injuries.

Step by slow step, Alucius made his way along the columned
corridor, which seemed more sheltered than other parts of the
building. Near the far end, through a narrow doorway in the stone
wall, a doorway whose door had vanished sometime in the past, he
finally found a corner free of most dirt and debris, in what might
have been a small room before whatever destruction had visited
itself on the place. Setting his rifle close at hand, he curled into the
corner.

Everything still ached, but sleep might help. He hoped it would.
Chapter 128

A flat, silvery light suffused the hallway outside the small room
where Alucius was sleeping, reflecting off polished stone walls and
into his eyes, bringing him slowly awake. Recalling his awakening
from his last Table trip, Alucius opened his eyes and turned his
head slowly.

A dull but faint throbbing throughout his skull reminded him of his
unwise exploits of the previous day, as did the soreness across his
chest and arms. So did the dryness in his mouth and his cracking
lips. He thought he'd seen the strength of ifrits before, but he'd had
no idea that a true ifrit was so powerful. Then… with his rifle and
the lifeforce-darkened cartridges, he had killed one. The only
problem was that there had been three… and who knew many
others that he didn't know about.

His breath steamed in the still air, although Alucius judged that it
was not quite cold enough to freeze water. Still, he was more than
glad he had been wearing nightsilks and his winter riding jacket.

He eased himself into a sitting position and looked out through the
doorway at the columns on the far side of the corridor he had
traversed the night before. Each was of amber gold stone, like the
towers of the soarers or the ancient buildings of Dereka—or of the
ifrit palaces about which he had dreamed more than a few times.
The light was coming through translucent clerestory panels in the
high roof of the corridor.

One thing was very clear. He needed to take care of more than a
few bodily necessities, including finding some water.

He rose to his feet, then reclaimed the rifle, checking it over before
he stepped into the ancient corridor. His boots had left the only
tracks in the span-deep gray dirt that covered the pale greenstone
revealed by his own scuffing steps of the night before. He turned
to his right, hoping that there might be an exit somewhere ahead,
although the corridor seemed to end in a gloomy recess less than
fifteen yards away.

Alucius walked forward.

There was an exit—or there had been one—but it had been walled
up, with square sections of goldenstone mortared in place. The
herder tapped the stone with the butt of the rifle and was rewarded
with a dull clunk. The stones were definitely solid.

He turned and retraced his steps back along the corridor, checking
each of the chambers that opened off it. Every single one was
empty of all furnishings, and every outside window had been
mortared closed.

When he finally returned to the ramp that led downward to the
Table, Alucius was not only thirsty and needing nourishment and
relief, but also more than a little puzzled. Supposedly, the
Cataclysm had been abrupt and without warning, yet someone had
sealed the building carefully, and in a way that could not have been
done in haste. Who had done it? How long ago? And why? To
protect the Table? That thought alone was even more chilling than
the air in the ancient building.

As he eased his way down the ramp, he could see in the indirect
light that it was covered with a grayish dirt that had drifted in from
the broken part of the wall. He made his way to the gap in the
stonework, where sunlight filtered around the massive tree trunk.
On the upper side there was a gap between trunk and
goldenstone—a gap perhaps half a yard in width and a yard long.

Alucius managed to lever himself high enough to grasp a section
of stone that looked as though it would break in his hands. But the
jagged goldenstone was as unyielding as iron, and he had to
stretch to set his rifle in one of the cracks in the stonework
overhead, then use both arms to pull himself up. He was panting
and sweating by the time he had recovered the rifle and gotten up
far enough to squirm into the opening between trunk and broken
stone. The tree looked as though it had fallen recently, with the
indentations in the bark still clear and fresh. But to his Talent, the
wood felt dead, lifeless. Yet it had not decayed. He touched the
trunk of the tree, a fir of some sort, a good three yards in breadth,
from what he could see. It was cold, like stone.

After a moment, he began to inch his way upward at an angle and
around the trunk until he was on the upper side and sitting in weak
and hazy sunlight, light that offered no warmth from the biting chill
that enfolded him.

He bent and tapped the tree trunk with the rifle butt. It even
sounded like stone. As he caught his breath, he took in everything
around him. In front of him, the fallen tree rose at an angle above
the goldenstones and green tiles that formed the roof of the
structure he had just escaped. Neither snow nor ice clung to or
touched the tile or the amber stonework—or the tree. Alucius's
mouth opened as he realized that even the needles and the
branches of the tree had ossified, as if the massive fir had been
alive one instant and turned to stone the next—stone that had
retained all the color and shape of the original tree.

There were no other trees anywhere in sight. The building itself
was situated on a low rise whose slopes were covered with snow.
Below the rise—in all directions except north—was a snowy plain
with low hummocks irregularly dotting the whiteness. There was not
a single sign of any sort of vegetation, nor any rock or stone not
covered with snow. To the north, from the position of the sun, the
snowy plain extended about a vingt—and ended. The land just
dropped away, and beyond and below that cliff edge was a mass
of gray clouds or swirling snow, or both. Above was an ever-darker
mass of clouds.

Alucius turned and looked away from the clouds and the tip of the
stone tree. At the bottom of the rise to the south of the building
was an open rivulet of dark water running between snowy banks. A
slight mist rose from the water. Alucius resisted the urge to rush
toward it. He'd rushed too much lately. Instead, he used his Talent
to scan the area around him, ignoring the headache the effort
caused.

He could sense a number of birds, a creature he thought might be
a snow fox, and some rodents, like scrats, but different. Beyond
the low rise on the far side of the small stream, the snow extended
as far as he could see to the south.

Slowly, he edged his way down the trunk until he reached the part
where bare stone roots jutted upward, blocking any further
progress. From there, holding the rifle high in his left hand, he slid
off into the snow. The top was crusty, but beneath that crust was
white powder that flew up around him, momentarily blinding him.

When the flurries settled, he was standing in thigh-deep snow. His
boots, he felt, rested on packed snow and ice, not frozen stone or
soil. Step by step he waded down the slope toward the stream,
stopping on a flat area short of the water's edge and testing his
footing as he edged forward. Finally, he bent down, reaching out
and touching trie water. Despite the foggy vapor that rose from the
surface, the water felt like liquid ice. Alucius could drink it only in
very small swallows, and it chilled him all the way through by the
time he felt he had had enough.

Alucius glanced around, but the air remained chill and still, with no
life except a few birds that skittered across the snow and rodents
burrowed somewhere beneath the snow. He needed to get out of
wherever he was—and as soon as he could. But it would help to
know where he was. From what he had seen, he had to be fairly far
north, perhaps near Northport or even Blackstear—although he
supposed that, with the range of the Tables, he could be
somewhere just as far north, but far to the east in Lustrea.

His one look at the land around him had made one thing very clear.
The only way out was through the Table.

In time, after dealing with other needs, and drinking more, he made
his way back up the stone tree and wormed his way into the Table
building—grateful to be out of a wind that had begun to rise, colder
with each quarter glass that passed. The sky to the north was
darkening moment by moment, with heavy gray clouds scudding in
from the northwest. His head and body still ached, but he didn't
see that staying around in the frigid Table building in the middle of
a mostly frozen wasteland, with spring yet to approach, would do
much to improve his physical condition.

He made another study of every room on the upper levels of the
building but found nothing, not even any light-torches or brackets
that might have opened hidden passages. Just walls and columns
and floors and ceilings, all of cold stone. There wasn't even a
scrap of parchment or a fragment of metal.

Alucius stood at the top of the ramp leading down to the Table
chamber and tried to think. The last Table—the buried one—had
felt reddish. The one in Salaan had been a dark green, and the one
immediately below him had felt black. The one that had existed in
Tempre had been blue, and the one where he had faced the ifrit-
possessed engineer years before had been silver. The Table in
Tempre did not exist any longer, and the one where he'd fought the
engineer was probably also buried in rubble. He hadn't fared well
against the ifrits in Salaan when he had been stronger. So… he
had to find another Table, preferably an older one not being
tended by ifrits. If there was another Table anywhere.

His breath was steaming more, and he shivered. Was that the cold
caused by the storm coming in? Or was it because he was tired
and hungry? He pressed his lips together, lifted the rifle that was
becoming ever heavier, and retraced his steps back to the lower
level.

Once he entered the Table chamber, he noted that the ooze
around the Table was firmer, almost totally frozen, except
immediately next to the Table. The Table itself held the purplish
Talent-glow that indicated it was functioning.

In the dimness, he checked the walls of the chamber, but could
find no sign of light-torch brackets or of hidden doorways. By the
time he finished, his teeth were chattering.

Alucius took a deep breath, then climbed onto the Table quickly, as
if he feared he might lose his resolve. He concentrated on the
blackness beneath, on the tubes that led… wherever…

More quickly than before, Alucius dropped into the purple black
chill. In the timelessness that followed, he tried to feel for the
arrowlike markers, finding the sullen red one, the dark green, the
silver, and the black, somewhere seemingly above him. There
were none of the guideways, the golden green threads, that led to
the hidden city, not even beyond the blackness, not where he had
found them once before.

But there had to be something else… somewhere else that he
could go…

He could sense, nearer now in some way, one dark purple conduit
that led to a darkness far worse than anything on Corus—the world
from where the ifrits came. Alucius had no desire to go there.
Facing an entire world of the creatures was madness when he
could barely hold his own against a single ifrit.

Once more, he sought beyond the tube of chill purple blackness,
but found nothing. Was there not anything, any kind of marker?

He struggled to find something, anything at all.

Off to the side, or off center, Alucius sensed something else,
something faint, a circle of gold and crimson, barely there, yet
there, but not flickering or retreating. He thought there might be
another, one of hot purple and pink, but that was farther away, and
he was tired… so tired.

As before, his mind had become slow and confused, and he
Talent-probed desperately for the golden red circle, more of a mist
than an arrow or a Table. Still… it had to represent… something.
He pressed his being toward that crimson gold, mind-levering
himself at whatever it represented.

Before he knew it, he was hurtling through a barrier, but one of
silvered gold, whose breaking shards were more like the patter of
rain as he flew through it.
Chapter 129
Salaan, Lanachrona

The two ifrits stood on opposite sides of the Table that dominated
the lower chamber. The hidden door had been closed, and the
stone facing where it was looked no different from the sections of
wall on either side.

"The Table in Soupat is on the grid. So is the one in Blackstear."
Trezun looked at Tarolt. " Waleryn thinks he will have the Table in
Norda fully operational in a week, no more than two. The cold has
hampered some of his efforts."

"It always does. Would that we could work on a warmer world, but
the universe does not take note of desires or wishes, only what is."

"Unhappily."

"How did you manage to bring the one in Blackstear into the grid?"
Tarolt's voice carried little more than idle curiosity.

"I did not. The herder-colonel did, I surmise, since there was a
translation from the Table in Soupat, and none of the other Tables
on the grid show another translation."

"That he went to Blackstear proves that he has ability, but not
understanding."

"The ancient ones, perhaps?"

"No. Blackstear was at the edge of their reach even when they
were more formidable." Tarolt smiled. "They are scarcely that
now."

"They could be concealing their strength."

"I think not. Not if they are reduced to using Talent-steers as their
agents." Tarolt gestured toward the Table itself. "The two
reaccessed Tables—they will strengthen the grid by how much?"

"A tenth part for now. Another tenth once the Table in Norda is fully
operational and can shunt power to them through the grid."

"So we have strengthened the grid, but opened it to an agent of the
ancient ones, who, weak as he is, has survived a barrier and made
another translation."

"He cannot survive in Blackstear," pointed out Trezun.

"No. But do we know that he will stay there? Warn Waleryn that he
is able to use the Tables." Tarolt paused. "You had best begin
making translations to Tempre. That is close enough that you
should not need a Table there, and the Lord-Protector believes the
room is sealed."

"You want me to start rebuilding the Table there?"

"Where else? We need to gain control over the Lord-Protector."

Trezun nodded slowly. "It will take time."

"Everything takes time, and that is what we have too little of. You
had best send a message to the fieldmasters about the Talent-
steer."

"They will not be pleased."

"No. But they would be less pleased if they discovered it later, and
we have not told them. They should also know that we yet face
difficulties. Perhaps it will motivate them to… encourage greater
support for our efforts."

"Most true," admitted Trezun. "Should we request a replacement
for Sensat?"

"That would be best—if there is someone willing to take the risk
and with enough lifeforce to make the long translation to a marginal
grid. But word what you send most carefully. I would rather not
upset Fieldmaster Lasylt more than necessary."

Trezun nodded slowly once more.
Chapter 130

Alucius staggered as he broke out from the purple darkness, and
he took two steps before recovering his balance. He glanced
around warily, but he saw no one. He stood in an empty chamber,
in a square pit perhaps half a yard below the stone floor. Dust
raised by his boots swirled up around him and he
sneezed—hard—several times.

With his free hand, he rubbed his nose, trying to stop the itching
and the sneezing. Finally, he glanced around, noticing immediately
as he did that the air around him was far warmer, if not quite
springlike. Again… he was in a chamber below ground, but this one
was lit, if dimly, by light filtering through a doorway to his left. A
moment passed before he realized that there was no Table in the
chamber. No Table? But how had he been able to appear?

As he stepped out of the pit, he frowned, thinking, even as he kept
looking around the empty chamber. He had not been able to find
one of the arrow markers. Nor had he been able to find the golden
green circles of the soarers and their hidden city. He had tried to
use a misty golden red circle—and he had broken out through
some sort of barrier. Did that mean that the Tables were only to
make travel easier? He recalled all the Table locations he knew.
Each was set on or near stone and deep in the ground. That
argued that the Tables could be located only in certain places.
Alucius looked back at the Table-sized depression in the stone
and nodded slowly.

All that might be, but he also needed food and rest, and before
long. He tried not to dwell on the situation he was in. His wife was
still missing, and he was, too—at least absent from Northern Guard
headquarters at a time when his absence would certainly be noted,
a time he should have been there. For the moment, though, he had
to deal with more immediate needs.

He considered the chamber around him, There were no furnishings
at all, just bare stone walls—except that the walls were gold
eternastone. As with the other Table chambers he had visited,
there was only a single obvious entrance, but the wooden door and
frame that had presumably once filled the doorway had long since
vanished.

Rifle still in hand, Alucius moved toward the doorway, then up the
stone steps, slowly, because he thought he could hear voices
murmuring. With each step, dust swirled around his boots. Halfway
up, he paused, listening.

"… sure be safe…"

Alucius tried to make out the words, words that he thought were in
an oddly accented Lanachronan.

"… safe enough… Councils armsmen won't be patrolling here
tonight…"

"… you know that?"

"… backhills… think this place is still home of demons…"

"… been here before… never seen any…"

Alucius checked his rifle, then took another step, and another,
trying to move deliberately so as not to raise too much dust, until
he reached the top of the stairs and stood in a small foyer. He
could still hear the voices coming from the larger chamber beyond.

The talking went on… and on.

Tired as he was, Alucius decided that he would have to try the
breeze illusion to move past whoever was in the chamber beyond.
If it didn't work, perhaps the rifle's presence would be enough to
intimidate them, since those talking sounded as though they were
beggars or homeless folk. He concentrated on creating the
impression of nothingness, then eased through the doorway out
into the larger chamber, moving one step at a time.

"… heard something…" One of the figures in rags turned toward
Alucius.

The young colonel shifted his grip on the rifle.

Another of the figures, a bearded man in an armless gray tunic,
looked toward Alucius, but his eyes were focused more on
Alucius's boots. "… over there… boot prints… see…"

"Nobody's there…"

"It's a demon… or its boots!"

"Run! Run, Nargila!"

"… no demons… you said no demons…"

"Run… !"

Alucius dropped the illusion once the three figures in rags
scrambled
through the bare stone archway and out away from him. He walked
slowly toward the windows through which sunlight angled. At the
low, wide window, which at one time had to have held a frame and
glass, he glanced out into late afternoon, where the sun hung low
over a city, over dwellings that glowed yellow in the slanting
sunlight. He had to squint, trying not to look directly at the sun, but
he could see that the dwellings in the distance, to the north, were
indeed of yellowstone and dark split slate.

Closer, below the building itself, ran a paved yellowstone road, into
which years of wagon wheels had carved grooves almost a
handspan deep. The road alone told Alucius where he was—in the
city of Dereka, capital of Deforya. To confirm that, he leaned out
and looked to the north, where he could see yet another of the gold
eternastone buildings, built without visible mortar or gaps between
the large and regular stones. Even farther to the north was a
greenstone tower.

He stepped back, swallowing. He was relieved, in a way, to be
somewhere that he recognized, but also troubled to have
discovered just how many Tables there once had been.

After a moment, Alucius turned and made his way in the general
direction taken by the fleeing beggars, finding a wide stone
staircase. In time he walked from a square arch on the north side
of the building, stepping out and turning west.

A vendor at a small cart stared at him, but he did not see anyone
else who seemed even to notice him as he walked westward. He
took the precaution of leaving his riding jacket closed, so that the
insignia on his collar could not be seen. Once he reached the main
boulevard, he looked southward, but all he could see of the
Landarch's palace was a small section of the main gates and
another green tower—the one at the northern end.

From what Alucius recalled, there were no places offering lodging
to the south of where he stood. He felt like trudging, but forced
himself to walk alertly northward along the main boulevard, vaguely
recalling having seen some inns there when he had last been in
Dereka. He also remembered to stay out of the center section of
the boulevard, reserved for riders and wagons. He worried about
carrying the rifle, but he saw more than a few bravos, some looking
even more tired and disreputable than he thought he must, also
carrying weapons. That was something he had not recalled from
when he had been in Dereka before.

The streets were less crowded than he recalled, and few people
looked directly at each other or at Alucius. He had to walk almost
half a vingt before he reached a corner where, across the side
street, he saw a three-story stone structure with the signboard that
proclaimed the building as the Red House. Beside the letters was
the picture of a house totally in red.

All the shutters, doors, and wooden trim had been recently painted
a bright red that stood out against the dressed graystones, stones
that had doubtless come from an older structure. The inn was
certainly a place more costly than Alucius would have preferred,
but it was also likely to be more reputable than a less costly place.
He crossed the side street and walked through the stone archway.

A young man with black hair and wearing a red leather vest rose
from behind a small desk to one side of the spacious foyer. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for a room… and a meal."

The angular young man looked at Alucius, at the heavy rifle, and
then at the nightsilk-covered riding jacket. "Be five coppers a night
for the room. Seven if you stable a mount."

"Mount didn't make it all the way here," Alucius replied. He hoped
the chestnut was all right, but there was little he could do, not when
he was some six hundred vingts from Salaan.

"You here to join the Council force?"

"Hadn't thought to… When I left my place… well… Landarch was
having trouble, but…" Alucius hoped his vague reply would lead to
more information.

"He had his troubles, all right." The young man shook his head. "All
started after the Lanachronans came in and destroyed the
nomads. Two years back. Landarch said the big landowners hadn't
met their obligations. He tried to curb their privileges.
Landowners… they complained… plots here and plots there.
Woke up a month ago, the Landarch was dead, and the Council
was in power."

Alucius nodded. "Think I might just have to think it over."

"You want a room? We have a small one on the third floor. We
could go four coppers."

"I'll take it. Need to sleep somewhere. Room have a basin and
towel?"

"All the rooms do. You need more water, you can bring the pitcher
down here."

"Thank you." Alucius extended the coppers, then offered a tired
smile. "What's best to eat tonight?"

"Stew's never bad, but the plumapple chicken's probably the best.
Or the Spirnaci noodles with the groundpig." The young man
extended a heavy bronze key. "First door to the left at the top of
the stairs. Has a red square on the door panel."

"Thank you."

"Sir… might be better if you left the weapon in your room, It'll be
safe there."

Alucius nodded.

The stairs to the second floor were wide and made of polished
stone. Those to the third floor were far narrower and were wood
covered with a dark gray carpeting, The key turned the heavy lock
easily, and Alucius stepped into the room behind the red square.

Since he'd been expecting a cot in a space more like a barracks
cubby, he was pleasantly surprised by the room—a space three
and a half yards by four with a narrow window offering a view of the
one of the abandoned gold eternastone structures. The inside
shutters were dark oak, and the bed, while single, had a firm
mattress, both sheets, and a heavy blanket. The wash table had
two pitchers and a generous basin with two towels.

After slipping the rifle under the mattress, he stepped to the basin
and pitcher. Slowly and carefully, he peeled off his clothes to the
waist. As he had suspected, he had bruises distributed all across
his upper body. Some were still dark, but others were beginning to
turn yellow and purple. He slowly washed away the dirt and grime.
He would have liked to shave, because his beard itched, both
growing out and even when grown out, but all his personal gear had
been left in his quarters.

Still… cool as it was, the water felt good. And so would some
sleep, but that would have to wait until after he ate.

Once he was cleaner, he brushed out the dust and dirt from his
jacket and shirt, using a damp corner of one of the towels to
remove several obvious spots. He removed the collar insignia,
slipping them into his wallet. Then he left the room, locking it
behind him, and made his way down the stairs to the public room.
He left the riding jacket on, but open.

Only half the tables in the long room were taken, and as Alucius
glanced around, a servingwoman—wearing a red apron with a few
splotches on it—paused and gestured. "Take any vacant table, sir."

"Thank you." Alucius nodded and moved toward the one corner
table remaining.

He had barely seated himself when another server, a squarish
woman—also wearing a red apron—appeared beside his table.

"What'll it be?"

"What's on the board?" Alucius asked.

"Spirnaci pig, plumapple fowl, and stew. Four coppers for each.
Ale's two, and wine is three."

"Ale and the fowl."

"Coming up."

Alucius surveyed the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary,
either with his eyes or Talent. There was absolutely no trace of
purpleness in any of those dining or serving them. For that he was
most grateful. He wished he had an idea of where Wendra might
be and how to reach her. But he doubted he could even search
more until he was refreshed and rested, and that bothered him as
well. He had always disliked knowing nothing, and when Wendra
was involved, that was even worse.

Just as bad was the realization that there were far more ifrits than
he had known about in Corus, and that some of them were real
ifrits—not just people possessed through the Tables. He had to
wonder how many more were placed in other cities, such as
Tempre or Hieron, or even Alustre.

He sat back listening, trying not to think of Wendra, or the ifrits,
waiting for his ale and food.

"Council's going to raise the road tariffs on the north highway .. ."

"About time."

"… Praetor of Lustrea won't like it…"

"… he's young… army got near wiped out by Aellyan Edyss two
years back… can't have that many lancers now…"

"… if he does… Council can just drop the tariffs… worth a try…"

"Right about that… anything's better 'n more tariffs on us…"

Alucius wasn't sure, but the speaker who was concerned about
tariffs looked to be a merchant, rather than an landowner.

"Here's your ale. Be two."

Alucius handed over the coppers, and then took a slow swallow.
The brew was heavy, a darkish amber, but not bitter, and cool. He
kept listening as he took small swallows.

"… need to be careful… say the Council wants to expand the
lancers…"

"… no reason… not these days…"

"… why we need to be careful…"

"…oh…"

"Lord-Protector all tied up with the Madriens… say they got a
regent now…"

"Madrien always been trouble…"

"… wager it'll be more now. Say… heard that daughter of yours…"

Alucius lost the train of the conversation as the server returned
again.

"Here's the fowl."

"Maybe you could help me." Alucius handed over five coppers. "I
just got here from the west… Heard the Landarch was killed, and a
Council's running things. You know who's on the Council?"

The server shrugged. "They say they're all landowners. Don't think
anyone rightly knows."

Alucius nodded. "Figured something like that. Thank you."

She offered a polite smile. "Let me know if you want another ale."

"I will."

The fowl was good, as were the plain noodles and bread that came
with it, although Alucius's opinion of the fare might have been
colored by his own hunger. Even before he finished the last
morsels, he found his eyes were so heavy that he was almost
nodding off at the table.

The food and the warmth of the public room—and the exhaustion
of days—left clearly left Alucius feeling more than a little sleepy.
He rose from the table and made his way up to his room.

The rifle remained where he had left it, and in addition to locking
the door, he slipped the bar standing behind it through the painted
iron brackets to make sure his sleep was not interrupted.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled off his boots and
disrobed slowly. He barely had pulled the covers up when sleep
claimed him.
Chapter 131
Northeast of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

In the early evening, the young man rode up the last part of the
lane to the stead house, a second unsaddled mount following his.
Long before he reached the rail at the base of the stairs, the older
herder was standing there, bareheaded, with the intermittent flakes
of spring snow swirling around him.

"Sir… I came as quick as I could."

"You talked to Alucius? You told him about Wendra?" asked
Royalt.

"Yes, sir." Korcler swallowed. "He's gone now, too."

For a long moment, Royalt just looked at the youth.

"I didn't do it, sir. I didn't know what he was going to do."

"We'll stall the mounts, and then you can tell us. Did you tell your
folks?"

"No, sir. I didn't stop there. They… they didn't want me to go to
Dekhron. I figured… I'd better tell you, first. Might not be going
anywhere for a long time, not after this. But I thought… someone…
and now… it's worse 'n ever."

Royalt took the tether for the second mount and began to walk
toward the stable. Korcler rode slowly after the older man. Neither
spoke until they were in the stable and out of the wind.

"You didn't tell me your father had forbidden you to go to Dekhron,"
Royalt said after stalling the spare mount.

"He didn't say I couldn't, sir," Korcler replied. "I didn't ask. He
would have said no. I knew that. And Alucius had to know about
Wendra. He just had to."

Royalt took the saddle and racked it, then closed the stall. "We'll
finish here after we go up to the house and you tell Lucenda and
me everything that you know."

"Yes, sir."

Royalt closed the stable door and began to walk swiftly toward the
house.

Korcler had to stretch his legs to catch up. "You're not mad at me,
sir?"

"No, Korcler. I'm not mad. Things could be a lot better, but I'm not
mad."

Once they were inside the dwelling, Royalt ushered the youth into
the kitchen.

There, Lucenda set a mug of hot cider before him. "Have you
eaten anything?"

"No… ma'am. Not except for some biscuits and cheese Majer
Feran sent with me."

"I'll fix you something while you tell us what happened."

"Alucius is gone now, too," Royalt said.

"How… ?" Lucenda's mouth opened.

"I told him about Wendra. I gave him what you wrote, sir, and he
read it. He turned real coldlike. I almost didn't want to talk to him.
Then he helped me stable and groom the mounts and took me up
to his quarters and gave me stuff to eat. He wrote something to
Majer Feran. I knew he was writing something. Then he rode off.
He wouldn't let me come with him. He said he'd be back that night."
The young man paused. "Except then… he said if he wasn't, I was
still to come back and tell you, sir." The youth's look was almost
defiant, but his eyes skittered away from Royalt.

"He's gone after Wendra," Lucenda said. "It has to be. She's the
only thing that would make him do that. But… how does he know
where she is?"

"I… I don't think he does, ma'am," Korcler said. "He told me he
couldn't tell me where he was going because he didn't know."

"It has to be something to do with Tarolt." Royalt frowned.

"That's it," Korcler said.

"What do you mean, young fellow?" asked Royalt.

"Well… he didn't come back. Even the next morning. So I went and
found Majer Feran and told him. Alucius left him a note. I don't
know what it said. The majer said it was Guard business, but then
he sort of smiled, and asked me if the colonel had mentioned the
name Tarolt. I told him he hadn't and asked who that was. He said
he was a trader, and the only one of the old traders left after
Halanat's death. Maybe I should have asked more, but that was all
he said."

"He said Halanat was dead?"

"Yes, sir. Clear as could be."

"So Alucius thinks Tarolt had something to do with this," mused
Royalt. "But he's vanished, too."

"Yes, sir."

"He's alive."

"He said Wendra was alive and healthy. He said whatever it was
happened in the morning, but he didn't know what it was."

"He didn't tell you where he was going?"

"No, sir."

"This won't do Alucius much good as colonel," said Lucenda.

"The majer said that everyone knew sometimes the colonel went
off and did things for the Lord-Protector, and he'd suggest that was
what happened." Korcler took another swallow of the cider.

"Can't purchase friends like that," offered Royalt. "Feran's putting
his head on the block and hoping no one's nearby with an axe."

"I'm sorry, sir," Korcler said. "Didn't know as I'd be… causing
trouble. I just know… he'd want to know about Wendra. He would."

Both Lucenda and Royalt nodded.
Chapter 132

Alucius woke with the first light slanting through the small third-floor
window of the Red House. He yawned and rolled over carefully,
then swung himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
Sleep and food had definitely helped. His eyes no longer burned,
and while he was still sore in places, he was better than he had
been.

He still had no idea where Wendra was, or how to proceed, and he
certainly had no idea exactly how to deal with the ifrits… or how he
could even get back to Dekhron safely. Whatever he did, or could
do, he would need to eat before he set out, and he would also
need some small items, if they weren't too expensive—a water
bottle that he could hook to his belt and some travel food. He knew
he could not get ammunition for the heavy Guard rifle—not in
Dereka. That had been a problem when he and the Northern Guard
had been in Deforya before.

After dumping the water in the basin out the window and refilling it
with what remained in the pitcher, he washed up. Then, as he was
dressing, he checked his wallet. While he had added coins after
getting paid the day before, he hadn't planned on traveling all
across Corus. Still… he had two golds, six silvers, and five
coppers left—more than enough for what he needed in the way of
food and lodging and some modest supplies… for a short time.

Like it or not, he was going to have to try to become more
proficient in using the Tables or portals, but if he started in Dereka,
at least he'd have somewhere he could come back to without
having to confront an ifrit. At least, that was what he hoped, but he
certainly wasn't certain, not after discovering the power of a full ifrit
in confronting Tarolt.

The sky outside his small window was a grayish silver green when
he unbarred and unlocked the door. He left the rifle concealed and
locked the room behind him.

Breakfast in the public room consisted of egg toast, so brown it
was almost burned, with a berry syrup, two thick slices of tough
ham, and a mug of ale. It cost him another four coppers, but he
wasn't about to attempt any explorations on an empty stomach.

More than a glass later, he left the inn and began to walk southward
along the main boulevard. The morning was cool, not quite chill,
with but a light wind blowing out of the north. While the west side of
the street was not empty, there were far fewer vendors than there
would be later in the day. Most of those seeking to do business
with the vendors were older women. Several glanced at him and
the heavy rifle he carried, but most paid him little attention.

A block southward, he found a small store, not quite a chandlery,
but one with provisions and even a belt water bottle. He spent
more than a silver for hard cheese, travel bread, dried fruit and
nuts, and the water bottle. He slipped the food into various pockets
in his jacket. Then, after leaving the store, he had to retrace his
steps to fill the bottle at the public fountain.

He had just left the fountain when a company of lancers trotted by,
heading southward toward the Lancer Prime Base beyond the
complex that had served as the palace of the Landarch. Alucius
did not recognize the captain and overcaptain leading the column.
The uniforms of the rankers at the end of the column were
considerably newer than those of the riders leading the column,
and several of the trailing riders glanced around them, as if they
had not seen Dereka before.

Alucius did not cross the boulevard until he was opposite the
ancient gold eternastone building that held the portal. As he walked
swiftly across the wide street, he glanced around. His Talent
showed no sign of any purpleness or any ifrits. He had not noticed
anything of that nature since he had arrived in Dereka. Nor had he
felt them when he had been an overcaptain fighting the
nomads—except, of course, in his dreams.

Still, several of the vendors had been watching him, and he did not
want to have anyone note his return to the structure. So he walked
past and then into an alleyway that looked deserted. There, he
concentrated on the illusion that he was but a vagrant breeze,
occasionally stirring up dust.

"… see that?"

At the words, Alucius stiffened, but held the Talent-illusion.

"See what?"

"Herder type… dark jacket… just went away…"

"Just seeing things."

"Tell you, he was there. Big gray-haired fellow. Big as life…"

Alucius smiled to himself as he eased out of the alleyway and
made his way back into the abandoned building, a structure that
had to date back to the first ifrit occupation of Corus. He moved
quietly, trying to keep his steps from echoing in the abandoned and
cavernous interior.

He paused as he heard steps on the stone floor. He flattened
himself against the wall of the corridor that led toward the chamber
above the portal area, waiting and listening. Two lancer officers
walked down the corridor toward Alucius, followed by two rankers.
Alucius remained motionless, hoping that his illusion would prove
enough.

"… you make of it?" asked the captain.

"… strange… boot prints there… don't see how they got there,"
replied the undercaptain, speaking as he walked past Alucius
without even looking in the colonel's direction.

"… you think it was a demon?"

"… more likely a drunken ranker. Came down there, fell asleep,
dust settled, and when he woke, he left tracks going out."

Alucius nodded to himself. It was a perfectly good explanation, and
one he hoped the two officers reported. He did not move until the
four men reached the end of the corridor and took the short flight
of steps that led to the north exit from the building.

Then he made his made back to the inside stone stairway that led
down to the former Table chamber, moving quietly and stopping to
listen along the way. He neither heard nor sensed anyone. The
chamber was empty, but the dust on the stone floor bore many
boot tracks.

Alucius released his own illusion and looked around the dimly lit
chamber, studying it more carefully than he had when he had first
arrived there the afternoon before. The walls were all of stone.
There once might have been wooden paneling or more ornate
stone facings; but if so, no trace remained. Nor was there any sign
of ceiling decoration.

His eyes dropped to the oblong space in the middle of the
chamber floor. Concentrating, and using his Talent, he could sense
a vague purpleness, as well as a crimson gold circle, in the center
of the oblong carved into the stone itself. The stone that
comprised the base of the oblong was darker, and Alucius could
sense that it was part of something larger, but not something
created by the ifrits, rather more like a lifeweb, except it was far
more vague to his Talent, almost like the hint of a mist.

Did the world itself have lifethreads—lines that ran through rock
and stone beneath the surface of the earth? It could be possible…
He shook his head. The more he learned, the more he found out
that he didn't know.

Still… the ifrits seemed to follow patterns, and he might be able to
discover more if he could use what he knew.

Did the chamber have a secret door, like the one built in Salaan?
He walked to the part of the stone wall closest to him. He let his
hand range over it, then tapped it, first with his fingers, then with the
rifle butt. It sounded solid, and from what he could tell from his
Talent, it felt solid as well. He examined the entire wall, but all of it
felt the same.

Then, recalling the use of light-torch brackets in the palace of the
Matrial, he began to look for places where there might have been
brackets. Once he looked, the narrow holes drilled into the stone
were obvious. There had been four such brackets, two on each of
the side walls, each head high. Alucius looked at each closely.
When he reached the third set of bracket holes, he smiled, but he
checked the fourth set as well before returning to the third.

Three of the brackets had been anchored by two holes drilled into
the stone. The third set had four holes—the two standard anchors,
and then two more in the middle, one above the other. Whatever
cables had been used had long since vanished, but Alucius had a
good idea that there was a door or something like it on one side or
the other of the vanished four-hole bracket.

He studied the two center holes, then began to create a Talent-
probe—the kind he hadn't tried or used since he'd been confined
in the hidden city of the soarers. He began by visualizing a thin
golden probe, slipping it into the uppermost of the center holes in
the wall. He had to concentrate more, using the probe to feel
blindly what lay beyond the stone. There were silvery metal levers,
and weights. He wrapped his probe around what felt like a lever
and tried to pull it down. The probe slipped off the lever—if that
was what it happened to be—as though the metal was heavily
oiled. Alucius focused his probe with rougher edges, and greater
strength, and sticky as well, almost as if with glue covered with
sand. That allowed him to pull down on the lever, but nothing
happened. He tried to push, but that didn't work either.

Sweat began to form on Alucius's forehead as he tried
combination after combination of pulling on one lever, then
another. A quarter glass passed, and then half a glass, and his
entire body was shaking when, abruptly, there was a snap, a low
grinding, and a section of the wall slid sideways, revealing a
passageway beyond—one lit dimly by a pair of ancient light-
torches.

Alucius inspected the area on the far side of the passageway,
noting the very simple lever. He shook his head. He wasn't very
good at visualizing what he'd never seen. Taking his rifle, he
stepped into the passageway. He could sense no one in the
passageway beyond. After a moment, he eased the lever forward.
The stone wall slid back into place, more smoothly and with much
less noise than it had made in opening.

He took a deep breath and walked along the narrow stone
passage, seemingly cut from the stone itself. After a good five
yards, it ended in another chamber—one that looked to be
precisely five yards square. Unlike the other chambers or Table
chambers, this room had not been touched.

There was a table desk in one corner and an odd settee before it,
beside which was a chair with longer legs than most. Against the
wall to the left was a wide chest of drawers, similar to the one in the
buried Table chamber where Tarolt had hurled Alucius. The light-
torches above the table desk shed an even, if faint, glow across
the chamber. In a niche carved head high from the wall behind the
table desk was a chest or casket of metallic silver and black,
although the silver held a purplish sheen. The casket was slightly
over a yard in length, and a third of a yard in height and in depth. A
key with a triangular head remained in the lock of the casket,
although the lid was closed.

A set of clothes lay on the floor, just inside the chamber, a green
tunic trimmed in brilliant purple, with matching trousers and black
boots. The garments had no dust upon them, and the fabric had a
silvery sheen. They were laid out as if someone had been lying
down and vanished, leaving the clothing behind. Alucius recalled
what had happened in the chamber beneath the Martial's palace.
Had the ifrit been trapped or killed by one of the ancient soarers?
Or just been trapped when the soarers had disrupted the ifrits'
lines of power?

There was a strange gleam to the garments, and he studied them
with his Talent. Then… he swallowed. Like the eternastone of the
roads and the remaining ifrit buildings, like the Tables, and like the
green towers, the garments bore an infusion of lifeforce. The
squandering of life-force on preserving mere clothing… the taking
of something that held a whole world together—just for clothing
that would endure for eons?

Alucius looked farther into the chamber. The light-torch bracket in
the far left corner had been twisted down, and on the polished
graystone floor below lay the metal fittings of a light-torch, but
without the crystal. Beside the broken light-torch lay a silvery jacket,
a pistol-like device, and a pair of boots on their sides.

Alucius nodded. The pistol-like device was like the one the
engineer had used, but he could sense with his Talent that its
power had long since dissipated. He took a deep breath and
hurried back out of the chamber to the hidden door. He pulled the
lever down. After a moment, and another grinding lurch, the door
opened.

This time, when he returned to the furnished chamber, he left the
stone doorway open. He thought he'd rather deal with live intruders
than a mechanism that might jam and might well have already
trapped two ifrits.

He went to the metallic casket in the wall niche first. As he looked
at it, he realized that the casket was not set on the ledge, but
actually embedded several spans into the stone so that it could not
have been moved without breaking the slab into which it was set.
The key had been left in the open position. Alucius lifted the lid.
The casket was empty. Inside was a pair of heavy metal brackets,
as if the casket had once held something. A purple crystal was set
at each end of the casket, and from the position of the brackets, it
appeared as if whatever had rested inside the casket had once
rested firmly against each crystal. A silvery bar ran from the base
of each crystal down through the bottom of the casket and into the
stone.

For a time, Alucius studied the casket, but he could not determine
what the missing object might have been. From the casket, he
turned to the chest set against the wall, leaving the single drawer in
the table desk for later.

He opened the top right-hand drawer of the chest. Inside were two
greenish crystals. Even as he watched, both disintegrated. What
remained in the drawer was a stack of sheets of the same eternal
parchment. Alucius picked up the first one. The writing was regular,
each symbol precisely the same size as the next—except none of
them was familiar. He glanced through the other sheets. All were
covered in symbols, without any drawings. After a moment, he
slipped them back into the drawer.

The left-hand drawer contained a few odd-shaped coins, including
several golds of a type Alucius had never seen, a pair of shears,
and a thin coil of wire. He slipped the golds into his wallet and
opened the double-width drawer below. Inside was a long
shimmering garment of some sort, all golden silver, with large
symbols down the front, symbols that Alucius had never seen, but
which he suspected matched some of those on the sheets of
eternal parchment.

Bending down, Alucius opened the lowermost drawer. It seemed
to be empty. Then, in one corner in the back, he saw what looked
to be another sheet of parchment, folded over twice. He touched it
gingerly, but the substance remained firm to his touch. Slowly, he
eased it out of the drawer.

The sheet was neither parchment nor cloth, but something akin to
both, flexible and smooth. After a moment, he unfolded it. What he
held appeared to be a map of some sort, which could have been
drawn recently, with bright colors and clear dark lines. He studied it
quickly, noting that it was clearly a map of Corus, although there
were representations of parts of the continent that did not match
what he knew. The map must have been made a long, long time
ago, before the Cataclysm that had changed the world. He glanced
back over his shoulder and slipped it inside his jacket and tunic.

He turned back to the table desk and opened the single wide
drawer. Inside, he found little enough—a miniature knife with a
purpleness to it that prompted him to leave it without touching it, an
oblong block of jade with an enameled and unfamiliar seal upon it,
and some sort of stylus in the form of a leafy branch. There were
also a number of sheets of the eternal parchment, all blank.

Alucius closed the drawer and walked toward the broken light-torch
bracket. Avoiding the boots and pistol on the floor and standing
beside the broken light-torch bracket, he created another Talent-
probe.

This time, as much as he tried, he could do nothing to open what
he knew to be another hidden door. He could find no levers,
nothing beyond the stone except more stone. Yet… once there
had been. Finally, with sweat streaming down his forehead, he
turned and studied the chamber again.

There were no books, nothing to provide knowledge, except the
map inside his tunic and the sheets of eternal parchment with
unreadable symbols—too many sheets to carry with him. And then
there was the mysterious metal casket—with nothing inside it.

He turned and made his way back along the narrow stone
passageway. He stopped under one of the light-torches just a yard
inside the open stone door.

There he took out the map he had found and unfolded it. Despite
having been folded for longer than he could imagine, once the
map—and it was clearly a map—was flat in his hands, there were
no creases or wrinkles. Before Alucius was a detailed depiction of
Corus. Although he could not read the script that labeled the cities,
all the eternastone highways that he knew were laid out, as well as
some that he had never seen or heard of.

There were keys to the map—that he felt. One that leapt out at him
was the placement of tiny green octagons. Each octagon had to be
the location of a Table—or where a Table had once been. There
were octagons in Tempre and where Elcien had once stood and
more than a score across Corus. Each octagon was framed by a
colored border edged in purple. Alucius looked more closely. The
one in Tempre was blue edged in purple. There was another
octagon of purple-bordered silver at Prosp in Lustrea. Had that
been where he had fought the ifrit-engineer?

So where was he now? He studied one octagon after another until
he found the one with the purple-edged, crimson gold border—and
it was Dereka, by its location, although he could not read the
symbols beside the city. He kept looking, finding a purple-edged,
black-bordered green octagon far to the northwest, just to the west
and south of what he knew as the Black Cliffs of Despair. He
nodded. The icy and preserved structure had been in Blackstear.

From what he recalled of the sullen crimson Table where he had
been sent, that buried Table chamber had to have been the one in
Soupat.

For a time, his eyes refused to focus on the map as the thoughts
of an entire web of Tables connecting all Corus flashed through his
mind. Yet… the Tables were not laid out for anything except the
travel of a few individuals. Why?

Not that many people—or ifrits—could have had the ability to travel
the Tables… could they? From what Alucius had learned from the
soarer, it was unlikely that anyone who was not an ifrit had been
able to use the Tables when they had first been set up. The
eternastone highways were what most people had had to use to
get from place to place. That also suggested that not that many
ifrits had the ability, and that all Corus had been ruled by a
comparative handful of ifrits.

Maybe… just maybe… there was some hope.

He frowned. Was that why Wendra was missing? Because the ifrits
were few in number, few enough that he and Wendra might make a
difference? But if that were the case, why hadn't Tarolt or Halanat
known about Wendra?

He looked at the map before him once more, forcing himself to go
over each green octagon, checking the colors of each and trying to
visualize what he knew. Originally, according to the map, there had
been a Table in Elcien and Ludar, but not in Southgate, and one in
Alustre. And in the time of the Duarchy, there had not been a Table
in Salaan or anywhere in the Iron Valleys—nor anywhere near the
Aerial Plateau.

After studying the map for a time, he carefully folded it and slipped
it back inside his undertunic. His next trip would be somewhere that
was hopefully closer to home and less dangerous, but someplace
where he hoped he could find out more, either about the ifrits or
how to discover where Wendra had gone. The more he thought
about it, the less it seemed likely that the ifrits had Wendra—unless
there happened to be more than one group of ifrits. But… he had
to do something…

At that thought, he frowned, recalling his grandfather's advice about
not acting until he knew enough to do so. But that had been in
battle—not when the love of his life was threatened.

He took a long swallow from the water bottle before slipping
through the open stone doorway and back into the Table chamber.
Turning back, he extended a Talent-probe to the activating lever of
the door and pushed it. The door slid back into place, leaving no
sign of a second exit from the chamber. Rifle in hand, Alucius
stepped down into the depression that had once held a Table,
hoping that he could somehow relink to the shadowy web that
connected both Tables and portals.

He stood in the circle that he could sense only with his Talent, and
ever so faintly even with that, trying to reach to the darkness
beyond and beneath. Nothing happened. He was still standing in
the oblong space in the stone floor that had once held a Table.

Oblong? For some reason that thought bothered him. He blotted
his forehead. Then he realized that if he included the depth into the
stone, the Table would have been a cube. All the Tables had to be
cubes. Why?

With a deep breath he pushed that thought away, again
concentrating, this time not on the idea of purple black conduits
running from Table to Table, but a vaguer, more shadowy web on
which the conduits seemed to have been imposed.

The stone beneath his boots dissolved, and he was in blackness, a
chill blackness, but one that was green-tinged, not purple-tinged.
Instead, he could sense that he was somehow resting
beside/below the ifrit conduit, and that the conduit wound around
the web, much as an ifrit lifethread wound around the lifethread of a
person when the person was ifrit possessed.

Where did he wish to go? To an amber portal, he had already
decided, the one that seemed to match with the location of Hyalt.
That way, if he could not travel back, at least he'd be in Lanachrona
and could make his way to Tempre, and the Lord-Protector, Travel
through the hazy green black darkness seemed to take less effort,
and within moments, or so it seemed, although he doubted time
was the way he felt it, he hovered underneath an amber portal, one
tinged with a faint and distant purple, much as was the portal at
Dereka. Did he want to emerge?

For a moment, he could also feel other portals, in seemingly
opposite directions, one that was pink-tinged purple, and another,
barely sensed, that was blue and maroon.

Alucius decided and concentrated on reaching out of the hazy
darkness, to bring himself back into the world of light through the
amber.

Silver and amber light shattered away from him.
Chapter 133
The Hidden City, Corus

Wendra stood in the second tower room, the one adjoining her
chamber, looking down at the mirrored square set into the amber
floor. In her carrypack, Alendra squirmed. Beside her hovered the
soarer.

You must learn to travel the ley lines of the world. Use your Talent.
Study the portal.

"Is this like a Table? I thought Tables had to be set into the ground.
Is it safe to carry Alendra?"

It is safe for the child now, but only for two seasons or perhaps
three. Once she has a firmer sense of who she is, then such travel
will not be safe for her.

"Why does that matter?"

Travel is by force of will and self The Tables are a framework
imposed upon the lifethreads of the world itself. We have woven
those lifethreads into the buildings of our cities. We once could
grow such threads. The ifrits cannot. They can only suck them dry.
You could travel from Table to Table now—the few that the ifrits
have constructed or rebuilt. They would soon catch you, because
you have not learned enough. That is another reason why we have
separated the portals of the Plateau from the ley lines of the world.
That way you cannot travel to where you could be taken… not until
you are ready.

"Why do you want—"

Study the portal My time and yours is short. I will guide you to
another portal in the other city.

"There are two hidden cities?"

Two are but those left. Use your Talent and study … I will return.
The soarer vanished, leaving Wendra looking down at the mirror-
portal set in the amberstone.
Chapter 134

Once more, Alucius stood in a chamber that had once held a
Table. Now the oblong depression was half filled with sand.
Through the dimness, he could barely see the smooth stone walls
of the room. He stepped out of the depression, almost falling as
his left boot skidded on the loose sand that covered the still-
polished stone floor.

As with the Table chamber in Dereka, there were no brackets for
light-torches, no windows, no furnishings, and no sign of the
original function of the chamber except the space cut into the
stone that had once held a Table. There was also no obvious way
out.

Alucius paused. How could he see if there were no sources of
light? From what he could tell, the walls radiated just the faintest
hint of light. Or something did. He began to examine the walls,
looking for the pattern of holes that might have once held a light-
torch bracket. He covered slightly more than half the chamber
when he found the telltale pattern.

As hard as he tried, though, he could find nothing to grasp with his
Talent, no hidden levers, nothing.

His face coated in sweat, he stopped trying to use his Talent-
probes and took a deep breath, leaning back against the smooth
stone wall.

"Oh…" He stumbled and almost fell as the stone behind him
shifted, sliding sideways for half a yard before grinding to a halt.
His rifle butt clunked against the hard rock.

Alucius turned and tried to move the stone door wider. It did not
budge. He could not close it either, although his efforts in that
direction were not quite so vigorous. There was more of the
indirect light in the passage beyond the door, and he squeezed
through the opening and into the stone passage beyond, a corridor
two yards wide, perhaps two and a half high, walled in redstone.
Less than ten yards from where he entered the passage, it
ended—or branched into two passages, one heading to the right
and one to the left.

Alucius paused, looking first to the left, then to the right. To the
right… he thought he could sense something, but the left seemed
empty. He turned left. Only five yards farther, the corridor ended at
what looked to be a wooden door. There was no lever, just a
handle. Alucius pulled on the handle and the door opened toward
him, swinging out on hinges that squeaked and grated.

His mouth opened, because the other side of the door appeared
to be a stone wall, and blocking the opening was a waist-high
bench. The room beyond was but three yards in width, and was in
fact the prophet's now-empty strong room outside of Hyalt. For a
moment, Alucius just stood there, amazed that he had once been
so close and not even sensed the tunnel behind. He finally
stepped back and closed the door, although he had to lean his
weight against the edge, and his feet slipped on the gritty surface
of the stone.

He retraced his steps back to the point where the corridor had
branched and followed the other branch. The sound of the grit
underfoot echoed in the stone-walled corridor, which began to
curve after about fifteen yards. The way brightened as he walked
the next few yards, and he brought up the rifle, but the source of
light was not an exit but a pair of ancient light-torches mounted in
antique brackets at head level on both sides of the corridor.

With his Talent, he could sense an end to the corridor at another
doorway, and within five yards, he reached another of the handled
doors. Gingerly, his rifle ready, although he sensed no one beyond
the door, he tugged. It opened easily onto an empty room, four
yards wide and three deep, also lit by a pair of ancient light-
torches. Opposite the door was an open archway, and beyond it
was a wall. Alucius left the door—also stone-faced on the
outside—ajar and stepped into the chamber.

He eased toward the archway, its edges finished with maroon
ceramic tiles. At the archway itself, he stopped, studying what lay
beyond—a screen wall, no more than three yards high and three
wide. Beyond that, his Talent revealed a soaring cavern or
chamber, with a stone dais on the opposite side of the screen wall,
a dais raised a good two yards above the floor of the cavern.

There was no one on the dais, and no one near it in the cavern, but
he thought there might be someone at the far end of the chamber.
He could not tell for sure, because there was something about the
chamber, almost as if it reflected his Talent back at him.

Rifle in hand, he stepped around the screen wall onto the dais, a
stone platform really, five yards on a side. The dimness vanished
as a line of light-torches on the screen wall flared into full
illumination.

He blinked at the sudden comparative brightness that threw the
cavernous area before him into darkness.

"Oh…" The moaning sound echoed from more than a score of
yards before him, in the darkness well away from the platform.

"One of the great ones…"

"Do you bring word of the True Duarchy?"

"We have waited, and we have been faithful…"

Alucius immediately called up the illusion of nothingness, of little
more than a breeze, and immediately, the cavern amphitheater was
filled with the sound of roaring wind. He staggered at the intensity
of the sound, before realizing that the roaring was all within his
head and that something in the design of the place amplified
Talent.

What could he say? What could he do?

He concentrated on creating an image… not of an ifrit… but of a
man, but an image far larger than life, and one that shimmered in
green and gold.

"Ohh…" The moaning from the worshippers in the back, for that
was what they must have been, Alucius concluded, rose, then died
away.

He spoke, as carefully as he could, in such unexpected
circumstances. " Man must live in the world as it is… and tend it
with care. The Duarches plundered and pillaged. Do not ask for a
return to the Duarchy and those who ravaged Corus! Do not ask for
slavery and death."

"The lamaial! It is the lamaial!"

"Lost… we are lost! All is lost!"

Alucius sensed the hostility and the lifting of rifles.

He dropped the image of the green and gold figure, and replaced
it with… nothing… an image of nothingness, even as he dashed
back through the archway.

A single rifle shot echoed through the chamber behind him.

Back in the chamber behind the screen wall, he stepped through
the door he had left ajar, closing it behind him. He retreated back
down the stone corridor, around the curves, and back to the
chamber that had once held a Table.

He had no idea whether the remaining worshippers knew about the
hidden doorway or the passage beyond or whether they would
even try to follow, but he could sense that Wendra was nowhere
near the portal, and there was little sense in remaining in Hyalt in
the ruins of what had been the temple of the prophet—or prophets.
He had to wonder why he had not discovered the concealed
cavern amphitheater and decided that the Talent-reflective
construction might have shielded it. He paused, realizing that also
might explain why he had been unable to sense the hidden doors
in the Table chambers. Perhaps they had been Talent-shielded.

He stepped down into the depression where once the Table had
been. He did not concentrate on the Table, but upon the green-
tinged blackness below the faded amber.

He dropped into that chill greenish darkness, but that darkness,
chill as it was, did not seem quite so paralyzing as when he had
used the Tables. But it was still cold, and he searched for a
direction, for the faded crimson gold. As he felt himself moving
away from the amber of Hyalt, once more he sensed the blue and
maroon portal, still distant, and the closer pinkish purple, noting its
familiarity even as he dismissed it.

The crimson-gold-silver shattered away from him… … and he
stood back in the Table chamber in Dereka.

Alucius surveyed the chamber, his rifle ready, his Talent probing
up the stairwell; but there was no one nearby, and he sat down. He
took several deep breaths, letting his feet rest on the bottom of the
depression that had once held a Table, millennia before. He set
the rifle down carefully on a clear patch of stone. Only then did he
take a long drink from the water bottle before recorking it and
replacing it in its belt holder.

Had he been foolish to try to influence the true believers? He
laughed softly, almost hoarsely. He'd known better. He just hadn't
thought when he'd been confronted so suddenly with the
unexpected.

Also, he'd been almost stunned by the Talent-amplification of the
cavern amphitheater. But had it really been amplification? Alucius
frowned. As he considered what he had experienced, it had not so
much been the amplification of Talent as the total elimination of all
other lifeforces, and the comparative feeling of Talent-
amplification. Was that so that the ifrits could command greater
control—or so that those who were not true ifrits could create the
impression of such control?

He wondered if he would ever know.

Every time he ventured into using his Talent, he discovered
something else he didn't know. He supposed that was true of life,
as well, but with Talent, the dangers could be so much greater.

Just before he had broken through the barrier, and again as he was
leaving Hyalt, Alucius had noted the portal of pink-tinged purple,
and he had not recalled such a Table octagon on the ifrit map. It
was a portal, not a Table. Of that, he had been certain.

Pink… and purple… was that the Regent of the Matrial?

He scarcely wanted to go there. Where else could he go? He took
out the ifrit map of Corus and scanned it, once, twice. His memory
had been correct. There had been no pink purple Table, but there
had been a maroon and blue Table—in Dulka. So what had created
the pink and green portal if there had been no Table? Something
that the Matrial had discovered?

He shook his head. He still needed to find Wendra, and if he could
not find her near the abandoned portals, he would have to try the
Tables in places where he had not yet been. And… if he could not
find her, he might have to risk the Table in Salaan in order to return
to Dekhron.

For the moment, he pushed that thought away. He had to find
Wendra… as soon as he had a few moments of rest.
Chapter 135

As he sat on the stone floor in the former Table chamber in
Dereka, Alucius frowned. From what he could tell, he'd been gone
three days, and that wasn't good. He had yet to find any sign of
Wendra, and he had no quick way to return to Dekhron—except by
facing at least two ifrits in Salaan. While they might not always be
right at the Table, the only way out was through the area where they
seemed to meet and work. Then, too, with the way the one had
appeared, he had to consider that they might have a Talent-based
warning system. Add to that the fact that he was the commander of
the Northern Guard, and he'd effectively deserted, even if he
hadn't meant to, and he hadn't solved the ifrit problem. Nor had he
found Wendra.

His note to Feran might buy some time, especially since Feran
knew the problems created by the traders, but he had to find some
answers or some way back quickly—for more than one reason. If
Wendra were in danger, the longer she was held, the more likely
the ifrits might be able to possess her—or kill her if they could not.
Yet… he really didn't know whether they even had his wife. Could
the soarers have taken her? Only the ifrits or the soarers seemed
to be able to travel from point to point without leaving traces. But…
even if they could, why would the soarers take Wendra? And
Alendra? Everything that they had done in the past had protected
Alucius. Were they trying to protect her as well? From what? The
efforts of the ifrits?

He had no idea exactly what the ifrits were doing, beyond the
general description provided by the soarers about the ifrits'
domination and eventual destruction of Corus. Had more ifrits
arrived from their world? If so, what could he do, especially since
the soarers seemed to have cut themselves off from the travel
tubes of the ifrits and even from the deeper lines of travel that
Alucius had discovered?

He took a deep breath. He was rested, and there were only two
portals left that he had not explored—the one in Dulka, and the one
that reminded him of the Matrial. What else could he do but explore
each, as quickly as possible? If he found nothing… then what?

Did he try to return to the Table in Salaan, rifle loaded and cartridge
belt filled with lifeforce-filled shells?

He didn't see any alternative. But first… the last two portals. Maybe
they would reveal something that he didn't know. Each time he
tried, he could also see if he could sense a soarer portal.

Alucius stepped into the Table depression, rifle again in hand,
taking several deep breaths.

Once more, he sank through the floor and into the deeper and
more greenish black misty darkness underlying the purpled
blackness of the ifrit transport tubes. The chill, while intense, was
not nearly so wearing, and he tried to concentrate on the portal that
was blue and maroon, and avoid the purple and pink one until later.

Alucius focused his mind on lifting himself out of the misty
blackness, out of the chill and back into the world of light through
the blue and maroon. Once more, there was a barrier, one of blued
silver. He formed himself into a spearhead of being…

Silver, blue, and maroon mixed in a swirl of chill slashes that
shattered away from him in icy shards.

The chamber in which he found himself was empty, and he stood
in the oblong depression that had characterized all chambers that
had once held an ifrit Table. For a moment, Alucius gripped his
rifle even more tightly as he saw the ifrit figures standing on the
stone floor around the Table depression. He relaxed slightly as he
realized that they were statues, but statues such as he had never
seen.

The larger-than-life-sized figures were carved of white marble. All
thirteen figures had hair painted black and wore clothing of the type
that the Tarolt-ifrit had worn, brilliant green and deep purple.
Likewise, the sculpted boots had been painted black. The facial
features were similar to those of the ifrit on the frieze in Southgate
or those depicted in the ancient wall paintings he had seen years
before in the hidden room in Dereka.

There were six figures on each of the longer sides of the chamber
and a single figure at one end. The single figure was slightly larger
than the others, close to three yards in height, and held a silver
scepter topped with glittering blue stones arranged so that the top
of the scepter resembled a blue flame. The facets of the gems
reflected the illumination from ancient light-torches, more than a
dozen.

Alucius immediately used his Talent to scan the chamber, but he
was the only living being within it, although he could sense others
farther away. He stepped out of the Table depression and studied
the chamber more carefully.

The light-torches were different. In fact, no one bracket was the
same as any other. Nor were the shapes of the lights. Likewise, the
clothes on the statues, while superficially identical, varied in fabric
and weave, and even in the more subtle shadings, so that every
shade of green and purple varied slightly from every other.

The same was true of the ifrit statues. All twelve of those along the
sides of the chamber were roughly a head taller than Alucius when
he stood beside them, but their heights varied slightly. Each statue
had the left arm by its side, and the right raised as if in a stiff-armed
and fingers-pointed salute to the taller figure at the end of the
chamber, but none of the arms were quite at the exact same angle
as any other. There was no way to tell if the differences were
merely the attempt not to have identical statues or inaccurate
copying.

Another sweep of the chamber with eyes and Talent revealed
nothing besides the statues and the light-torches, and Alucius
moved toward the stone door on the side of the chamber. This
door was open and had been slid back, revealing a stone-walled
corridor.

He could sense the green of Talent at the end of the stone
passageway—but how far beyond he could not tell. There were
also others in that chamber. But Talent? Could someone have
brought Wendra?

He frowned. The Talent was greenish, but did not feel exactly the
same. Yet… if she had been drugged or restrained… If it were not
Wendra… the Talent was certainly not purple-tinged, not in the
fashion of an ifrit.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and eased into the stone
corridor that stretched a good ten yards toward what had to be a
screen wall beyond the ending archway. The corridor held the odor
of burned oil, and he looked up. The entire stone roof was covered
in black, as if lamps and torches had traversed the passageway for
years, if not centuries. The walls were bare stone, and the floor had
been recently swept, although the center of the stone paving was
lower than the edges, an indication that many feet had traveled the
passage over the years.

As he neared the end of the passage, lighter from illumination
beyond, he could see that, as in Hyalt, the archway at the end had
edges lined in maroon ceramic tile, but the tiles looked older and
the color had faded. Alucius could hear voices beyond the stone
screen wall that blocked his view of the chamber beyond.

After a slight hesitation, he called up his illusion of nothingness,
moving to the archway, but not beyond. He used his Talent to scan
the space beyond the wall screen. As in Hyalt, there was a square
platform five yards by five yards beyond the wall screen. Beyond
the platform extended a large cavernlike amphitheater.

Unlike Hyalt, there were people on the platform. A man sat in a
throne-like chair upon the dais, and on each side of him were two
guards, armed with shortswords and rifles. The figure in the chair
was not an ifrit, nor ifrit-possessed, but, from what Alucius could
sense, all five were garbed in a fashion similar to the garments on
the ifrit statues.

In the amphitheater itself were but a handful of people, or so it
seemed.

The figure in the chair on the dais wore a black mask across his
eyes, a mask with no slits for eyes. Was he blind? Or was the
mask to show his ability to act without eyes.

"Silence!" commanded the blind man.

Instantly, the guards froze.

Sensing a faint Talent-probe, Alucius eased back into the stone
passageway that led back toward the Table chamber.

"There is an intruder! In the sacred passage! Kill him!"

Alucius turned and ran for the Table chamber. He had to get out of
the passageway before they started firing, because the bullets
would likely ricochet everywhere, and if they fired quickly and often
enough, one could easily hit him where he wore no nightsilk.

He scrambled into the Table depression, standing in the middle,
trying to ignore both the statues and his pursuers. Concentrating,
he tried to call up the sense of the portal, even as the sound of
boots pounding down the narrow stone passageway grew louder
and as shots flew out of the passageway toward him. He began to
drop into the greenish black mistiness that lay beneath the purpled
black of the ifrit tube.

A dull lancelike blow slammed into his shoulder, followed by a
second and a third…

As he sank into the misty blackness, his whole side and upper
body were a mixture of chill and burning pain. What was he doing?
He had to think. What was it? Where was he trying to go? Back to
Dereka… but it was so far… and there were no green and gold
portals of the soarers… and he was getting so cold… so very
cold… he struggled… trying to orient himself in the darkness…
Chapter 136
The Hidden City, Corus

Wendra stepped back from the mirror-portal. Agony and chill
flowed from the black crystal on her ringer. She looked at it,
although she did not need to. Within the carrypack, Alendra
whimpered, as if in pain.

Wendra's eyes flicked to the soarer. "Alucius needs me. He needs
me now!"

You have not learned enough.

"He's hurt and somewhere in a tube or a ley line. I can feel it. I'll
help him back. You can teach me more then. Unblock your portals.
Please."

The soarer offered a fatalistic sense of a shrug. It is dangerous. If
you fail, then all you know and love may be lost.

"It doesn't matter! Without both of us, everything is lost." Wendra
squared her shoulders. "Are you going to offer me some
guidance?"

You must use your thoughts to guide you, and to seek not the
places marked with arrows, but those less obvious, those with
hidden circles. He is near the circle that is… blue and maroon… as
you would see it. The soarer seemed to blur. The portals are
unblocked, but you must hasten.

Without speaking, Wendra adjusted Alendra in the carrypack and
stepped onto the mirrored surface. She began to drop into the
misty black greenness.

Behind her, the soarer sank to the floor, wings drooping, its gold
and green iridescence fading away.
Chapter 137

Alucius tried to concentrate … his thoughts questing for the hidden
crimson gold portal, but all he could sense was the blue arrow and
the dark green one, the two where the ifrits waited… and he
knew… injured as he was, he would have little chance.

Where was the crimson gold? He would have blinked if he could,
but he sensed something, something green and gold… so
distant… and seemingly receding from him. He struggled toward
the green and gold, pressing, but he felt as though he made no
progress, and all the time, greater and greater chill pressed in
around him.

Suddenly, a line of warmth touched him… and a gentle pressure…

Was it a soarer? Had the green and gold been a portal opening?

He could sense a presence, urging him, pressing him, guiding him,
even somehow lending him strength as he struggled toward the
green and gold portal that no longer receded. Still, the journey
seemed endless.

Then… the green and gold shattered into silver shards…

Alucius tottered on shaky legs. He could feel dampness running
down the side of his face, and there was an iron coppery taste in
his mouth. Around him was amber, but he could not see it. He
could only feel it, yet everything was amber.

"You're hurt," a voice said.

He knew he should have recognized the voice, but before he could
put a name to the speaker, his legs trembled and gave way. A
golden redness swept across him, and everything began to spin,
swirling around him, faster and faster.

Deep darkness washed over him, a darkness filled with fire, and
purpled visions, and ifrits who stood back and laughed, and ifrit
palaces whose walls contracted upon him.

Alucius woke. His eyes opened, and… he could see nothing.
Nothing at all. There was no amber, no red, no green, just a solid
black that revealed nothing. He shuddered. Where was he? What
had happened? Why couldn't he see?

"You'll be all right, dearest. Just try to relax."

"Wendra?"

"I'm here." A warm hand stroked his forehead.

"How did you… ? Where are we?" The questions tumbled out of
his mouth.

"In the hidden city. Or one of them. The soarers took me… and
Alendra. She's fine. Except she was upset when you got hurt the
last time."

"Where is she?"

"She's here. She's finally sleeping," Wendra's voice was gentle.

"I can't see. I can't see anything at all. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. We're both fine. You'll be all right before long. The
soarers said that this sometimes happens when someone is…
injured and travels the ley lines."

Alucius lay silent for a moment. He wiggled his fingers, and could
feel them move against his legs. His toes worked. "Can I sit up?"

"You could," she replied. "You might get dizzy. You've had a
concussion. Your head hit something, or something hit your head."

"Stone… or bullets. Could be both." He took a slow breath. "I
heard you had disappeared… I was looking everywhere." Alucius
paused. "We're really in the hidden city?"

"There are two of them. I've seen them both. We're in the one
where you were. I think we're probably in the same chamber."

"How did you get here?" He stopped. She'd told him. He was
having trouble holding on to his thoughts. "Why did the soarers
bring you here?" He found himself shivering.

"To teach me more… to get your attention."

"I kept trying to find you… once I heard. Korcler rode all the way
from Iron Stem to tell me. I thought the ifrits had you. The ifrits…
they're traders, or traitors, or the traders are ifrits…" The words
seemed to tangle themselves in his mouth, but that could have
been because his teeth were chattering and he was shivering
violently.

Wendra pulled a cover of some sort up over his chest and
shoulders. "You still need to rest. Alendra and I are right here. You
don't have to look for us anymore. We're all together."

"… all together…" Those were the last words he heard before he
slipped back into the darkness.
Chapter 138
Tempre, Lanachrona

As he sat in the chair across the low table from the love seat, the
Lord-Protector lifted the wineglass and took a small sip. His eyes
were directed at his consort, but not focused upon her, nor at the
wall beyond her.

"Talryn?"

The Lord-Protector did not respond.

"Talryn." Alerya's voice was a great deal more firm. "You have not
heard a word I said. Not one."

"Dear… you were talking about how strong young Talus has gotten,
and how he managed to turn himself over in his crib."

"You didn't look like you were listening. What is it?"

"Oh… nothing…" Talryn shrugged.

"It's not nothing. Not when you look through me and around me. I
could be in Soupat or Southgate, and you wouldn't notice that I
wasn't here."

He shook his head, finally looking at Alerya with his eyes truly
focused upon her. "I'm sorry. There are so many things…"

"I know. Yet… who else can you tell?"

"This one is trivial. It bothers me. I cannot say why. You know the
Table chamber? How I had the remnants of the Table smashed
and the chamber sealed?"

"You told me about that." Alerya's words were cautious.

"The servants and the guards claim that they have heard noises
there. I had the door unsealed, and there was nothing there."

"Mice or rats. What else could it be?"

"I worry that it is not merely rodents or thieves, not that there is
anything left inside. The overcaptain had said that the Tables were
a way of transport. He said that the Tables were dangerous."

"He was right, I'm certain. You were right to seal the chamber.
What else can you do?"

"I don't know." Talryn paused. "I had the chamber resealed—even
more firmly."

"Then, forget that one. You have too many other worries. You worry
about everything."

"In my seat, wouldn't you? Waleryn was plotting with Enyll, and
Enyll knew how to use the Table. Waleryn vanished into Lustrea
seasons ago, and I've heard absolutely nothing. No messages, no
reports from scouts or spies. The Regent of the Matrial is massing
forces against the garrisons in the south, and Alyniat is uncertain
whether he can hold Fola—even without facing the spear-
throwers—"

"You didn't tell me that."

"I got the report this afternoon." Talryn sighed.

"Are you thinking about recalling the Northern Guard colonel?"

"If I but could. Why is it that there is only one of him? And a
northerner to boot. I could use a score of him. But he is but one,
and I cannot recall him. That would cause yet more damage.
Weslyn disbanded two companies and pocketed the payroll, and
promoted a half score of incompetent captains to cover things up.
Colonel Alucius and Majer Feran are trying to rebuild the Northern
Guard, and if I pull him out, then I'll have no forces in the north, and
the Regent can pull all her lancers out of northern Madrien and use
them against Fola and Dimor. It's almost as if someone paid
Weslyn to gut the Northern Guard."

"Perhaps they did," suggested Alerya. "That would serve the
Regent well."

"It has indeed." Talryn took another sip from the goblet. "It has
indeed. I can but hope that the colonel acts well and decisively,
and that Alyniat can hold the south…"
Chapter 139

When Alucius woke again, Wendra was by his side… and he could
see—her golden eyes flecked with green, her brown hair that held
a depth of gold, and her wide mouth and generous lips. He couldn't
help smiling.

"Are you feeling better? " She slipped onto the edge of the bed,
easing the carrypack with Alendra slightly to the side.

"I don't think I could have felt much worse." Alucius slowly eased
himself into a sitting position, swinging his feet onto the
amberstone floor. The left side of his head still ached, but it was a
dull pain, not the stabbing agony he recalled feeling when he had
staggered into the tower room. He slipped his right arm around
Wendra, holding her gently, trying to avoid disturbing the sleeping
Alendra. "She's good, isn't she?"

"Mostly. Except when she's hungry." After a moment, Wendra
asked, "How does your head feel?"

"You were the one in the darkness, guiding me, weren't you?"

"I tried. You were so heavy—I know it's not weight, but that was the
way it felt. It felt like I could only urge you toward the soarer
portals."

"I could feel you. I wouldn't have made it without you," Alucius
admitted.

"The soarer didn't want me to go. She said I hadn't learned
enough."

"What have they taught you?"

"How to travel the ley lines…"

"Is that what they call the misty black lines under the purple black
tubes of the ifrits?"

"Yes. I stayed away from the tubes when I went after you. The
soarer said they were dangerous."

"I suppose they are," mused Alucius. "I knew that, but until the last
few days, I didn't realize about the deeper ways." He looked
directly at Wendra. "Why did they bring you here?"

"I told you when you… they said you might not remember. They
brought me here to keep me away from the ifrits, to teach me
more, and to get your attention."

"Get my attention?"

"She said that you would not act in time against the ifrits. She's very
upset. I can feel it." Wendra worried her lower Up. "She's acting
like there's not much time left, almost like a crotchety aunt."

In the carrypack, Alendra squirmed, then made a little sound.

Alucius smiled, but only for a moment. "Why are the soarers
worried?"

"The ifrits are rebuilding the Tables. The barriers the old soarers
erected have failed. The ifrits are trying to invade Corus once
more. Their world is dying. They're close to having drained it of all
its lifeforce, and they will come here and do the same."

"If they aren't stopped," Alucius said.

"If we don't stop them. The soarers no longer have the strength to
hold them off."

Alucius wanted to ask why he and Wendra had to, but there wasn't
any point in asking the question. They were young and had lives in
front of them, but they wouldn't be happy lives, not under the
ifrits—if they had lives at all. But he did wonder why it had to fall on
them, and the only answer was that there wasn't anyone else who
had the ability to stop the ifrits—or that anyone else who had that
ability hadn't been discovered by the soarers—and there wasn't
even any assurance that he and Wendra could do what was
necessary.

"Is that why they closed off their portals?" he asked.

"I think so." Her eyebrows lifted in inquiry. "You could sense that?"

"No, not exactly. I could sense that they weren't there. I was trying
to make my way to all the portals where the ifrits weren't…"

"How did you know where you were?" asked Wendra. "How could
you tell which places were Tables and which weren't?"

"I didn't at first," Alucius admitted. "That was how I got into trouble
the first time. This time, I recalled where I'd been, but then I found
the map." He leaned forward, avoiding his daughter, and kissed
Wendra, warmly, perhaps too warmly.

She broke off the kiss. "A map? What kind of map?"

Alucius looked at his wife sheepishly, then slowly stood and walked
to the pegs on the wall where his jacket and tunic and trousers
hung. After fumbling through them, he withdrew the map. "I've had
other things on my mind…"

"I've noticed," she said dryly.

"So have you."

Wendra flushed.

They both laughed.

Alucius extended the map to Wendra. "The green octagons show
where the ifrits had Tables in the time of the Duarchy. At least,
that's what they seem to be."

As she studied the map, Alucius looked at her, thankful that she
was well and safe. He couldn't help worrying about his absence
from the Northern Guard, but dealing with the ifrits was of far
greater concern—if he and Wendra could find a way. Or if the
soarers could teach them.
Chapter 140
Salaan, Lanachrona

Despite the heavy, fleece-lined, black jacket he wore, Tarolt
shivered as he descended from the Table. He moved quickly from
the Table chamber up the steps until he stood before the stove in
the conference room.

Without speaking, the Recorder followed him, waiting. Finally,
Trezun cleared his throat. "What did you find out?"

"What we suspected. There was an accident, and the seals were
broached. You will clean up the mess in Blackstear and seal the
room. That should not take you long, and we might need the Table.
The chamber is too cold for regular use as it is now. How they can
survive in such chill… but then, they are what they are."

"Yes, Tarolt. What of the herder-colonel?"

"He translated to Blackstear and then elsewhere. There were
traces there, but he found another Table or portal."

"He must be able to use the portals, then. There is no record of his
using any of the other Tables."

"That assumes all the Tables are functioning properly." Tarolt's
voice was clipped, cold. "Is that in fact so?"

"The only older Tables are the ones in Soupat and Blackstear. You
have inspected the Table in Blackstear. The one here and the
ones in Prosp and Norda are new."

"Just five Tables. We need to step up the search for the scepters."
Tarolt frowned. "We had best message Lasylt the latest about the
herder-colonel. Why can they not understand that we need more
support?"

Trezun remained silent for a time, before adding, "Waleryn has
been working on the locators." He did not look directly at the
fieldmaster.

"You don't sound like you have news I wish to hear."

"They are not quite what we thought."

"Little is," replied Tarolt. "Do they work?"

"They do, but not exactly as Waleryn had expected."

"Explain."

"They were designed to discover the scepters and their
assemblies—together. Waleryn has not been able to refine the
locations yet. It requires some triangulation. He can only pick up
one signal. He thinks the other scepter may have been destroyed."

"They cannot be destroyed. Not here on Corus. One has been
removed from its container. It could be anywhere. A map of where
the old Tables were would help. We only have an incomplete list."

"But there is some good news," Trezun added.

Tarolt waited.

"With the locators and one of the scepters, the other can be
located."

"That is good only if we can find the one. We must hope that the
herder-colonel does not discover their importance. Or the ancient
ones have not told him." Tarolt's face turned even more severe. "I
detest having to rely upon hope… or upon the weaknesses or
failures of others."
Chapter 141

The soarer appeared but briefly to Wendra and Alucius in the next
two days, saving that her energies were limited and that she would
wait until Alucius was able to travel the ley lines before she
imparted more instruction. Before either Wendra or Alucius could
comment or protest, she was gone, leaving them limited
supplies—and the run of the tower. Alucius had tried to soar, the
way he had once been able to in the tower, but with the portals
closed once more, the lifeforce energies were too weak. That had
left them effectively confined to one level of the amber tower.

If he had not been so worried about both the ifrits and his absence
from the Northern Guard, Alucius could have enjoyed the time with
Wendra and his daughter even more. As it was, he still enjoyed it,
although he wished the circumstances had been different.

"We can only take the time we have," Wendra reminded
him—more than once.

He thought it was Novdi when the soarer abruptly appeared once
more. She walked from the mirror square into the trapezoidal room
where the three spent most of their time. Nor did the soarer hover,
but stood on the amber floor before Alucius and Wendra. They sat
on the ends of the bed, and Wendra cradled Alendra in her arms.
Even though Alucius was seated, his head was almost level with
that of the standing soarer. The soarer's wings carried but the
faintest hint of green and gold iridescence.

The last skill I can provide is the one that will decide whether you
can survive while you do what is necessary to stop the ifrits. The
soarer paused.

Alucius got the sense that she was panting, but he could not see
that she was breathing hard.

You must learn how to anchor yourself. You must link your
lifethreads with the threads of all that is around you. The ifrits
cannot do that. Watch…

Alucius focused on the soarer, who, young-looking as she
appeared, also seemed worn and tired. Still, he could sense the
thin threads that extended from her lifethread and hooked to the
amber of the walls, even to the silvery metal.

As quickly as the threads had seemed to meld, they disengaged,
and the soarer stood unlinked.

You must try. When you are so linked, no force brought by an ifrit
can touch you or harm you.

Alucius stood, trying to spin off thin threads.

No! The threads are part of you. They must stay part of you. You
cast them loose, and you lose part of what you are.

Alucius swallowed. He had sensed both the command and the true
fear from the soarer, a fear so real it had frozen him for a moment.
Was what they were trying that dangerous?

It is most dangerous. You can link to power and obtain it, but that is
even more dangerous. A hint of humor appeared, coloring the
words that followed. Anything that confers power bears danger.
She looked at Wendra. You also must master this. Your mate
cannot protect you, nor you him.

Alucius tried once more, visualizing the finest threads of his being,
almost like hair extending forth, but remaining anchored to him.

Better, but they must be stronger, and there must be more of them.

Alucius watched as Wendra attempted to replicate what the soarer
had demonstrated.

Hold the threads to you…

At least a glass had passed before the soarer held up a tiny hand.
Enough. If you practice well, you will be strong enough to protect
yourself.

"How will this protect us?" asked Wendra.

When you so link to the world, you cannot be taken by the power of
their Tables or their lifeforce. Isolation from the world makes one
vulnerable. Linking more tightly to the world creates strength. You
will need that ability to save our… your world from being drained
and destroyed…

"Will they use the Tables to drain the world and its lifeforce? Or
can they tap the world directly?" asked Alucius.

They must use the Tables to begin with. Once the master ifrits are
established here, they will be able to tap the world directly—as they
had begun to do before the Cataclysm. They will come as once
they did, flooding through the tubes and Tables.

"Did they just add the Tables to the web that already was?" asked
Wendra.

It was not… it is not a web… those lines are part of the lifethreads
of the world itself. Were we strong enough, we could travel the
threads, as once we did, as you can.

"Without a Table or a portal?"

Yes. The Tables are necessary for the ifrits. That is their strength
and their weakness.

Alucius didn't see a weakness. "What weakness?"

They must use a Table, or a location that once held a Table or is
otherwise powered, as by one of the scepters. They can also
transport those who cannot use the Table themselves. That is a
great strength. If you will but learn, you can travel anywhere on the
major lifewebs, but you cannot carry another… The other
weakness is that excessive use of the Tables will drain a world far
sooner…

Alucius nodded. "Not too many people should use them?"

Use by a handful will not harm the world, but use by thousands or
the transport of large weights of metals will wear down a world
before its time, and it will die, and then so will everything upon it.
Even the existence of many Tables over centuries will wear down a
world… Enough… you must do what is necessary… If you wish
your children to survive and prosper, you must travel the dark tubes
to the world of the ifrits. Only there can you stop them.

"Why didn't you?" asked Alucius.

We could not. We cannot travel the dark tubes. Even entering one
will kill a soarer. Nor did we know about the scepters then.

Scepters? The soarer had never mentioned them before, and now
she spoke as though they were of great import. He had so many
questions. "Why can we…" Alucius stopped. "Because they
helped form us?" The very thought that he and Wendra were
somehow related to the ifrits was distasteful, and he'd shied away
from it in the years since he had first learned that.

Wendra's eyes widened, but she did not speak.

You are of this world, of another world, and of the world of the ifrits,
and you are of yourself. We are but of ourselves and this world,
and that has not proved enough strength…

"But you brought me here. You've done so many things," protested
Wendra.

I did not bring you. Those with strength did. Our fate was sealed
from the first, for we can have either skill or strength. We cannot
have both. Skill is not strength. Soarers are most skilled, but you
are far greater in strength. Skill can be taught, once the intelligence
is there. We have either intelligence or strength. We have never
had both. You do. You must use your strength to find one of the
scepters and take it to where it can destroy the access of the ifrits
to Corus forever.

Scepters again? The soarer's thoughts seemed almost
fragmented.

Alucius had never heard any mention of a scepter. Or had he?
Wasn't there a mention of a scepter of the day in one of the old
rhymes? And there had been the statue in Dulka—it had to have
been Dulka—that had borne a scepter tipped with blue flame.
"What are the scepters? Where are they?"

They were a symbol of the Duarchy, and they had a function.

"What function?" pressed Alucius.

They made the Tables possible. They created stresses, fractures,
in the lines of lifeforce that hold the world together. If they are not
either reunited with their source, or one of them destroyed, in time .
. . There was the sense of a shrug.

"Then what?" asked Wendra, a trace of irritation in her voice.

The lifeforce webs will shrivel and die, and so will all your
descendants. How long this will take, we do not know. Many
hundreds of years, but it will happen.

"How did the scepters create the Tables?"

Each contains lifeforce from all the worlds held and drained by the
ifrits. Each world contributed a small fraction of its lifeforce. The
tension between the two scepters allowed a disruption in the
balance of forces on a world. That imbalance makes possible the
creation of the translation tubes between worlds, and between
Tables and portals.

"And we need to destroy the scepters?" asked Alucius. "Or one of
them?"

Need is what one makes of it. There was an impression of a
headshake, although the soarer's head did not move. It gets more
difficult to retain lucidity. You need only to destroy one scepter…

"How do we destroy something like that?" asked Wendra. "Where
do we find it?"

Find it… you must… you can… it is twisted silver and black, locked
in pink and purple, and it cannot be far from a ley line, a world
lifethread, and it has its own… feeling… Its appearance… we
cannot say. It could look like anything. We have never seen it, only
felt what it did… The soarer slumped, as if she could hardly hold
herself erect on the amberstone. Destruction… that is simply said,
and most difficult. You… must reunite it with the master scepter on
the world from which it was brought… find the master scepter on
the world of the ifrits and reunite them. You must not wait… for in
instants… will come a great convulsion… and you will be trapped
there, and die with that world…

Alucius looked at Wendra.

You must practice what I have taught you. And then you must rest
before you go. You must be refreshed before searching for the
scepters and before you travel the dark tubes.

"We must act quickly?" pressed Wendra.

If you would save yourselves and this world we would leave to you.
I must go… little time for me remains… for any of us… Do what
you will… I… we can offer no more… No more… The soarer
walked out into the adjoining room to the square mirror and was
gone.

"She didn't say anything more," Alucius said. "She didn't even
soar."

"She's dying. They all are," Wendra said. "It's so sad."

"Dying?"

"Can't you feel it? There's so little lifeforce behind her."

Alucius hadn't thought to look. "They always seemed so powerful.
So invincible."

"Did she look invincible?"

He shook his head. Inadvertently, he yawned. "I'm tired. I didn't do
that much…"

"Using Talent is work, and you're still tired from what you've been
through."

"We should practice a little more."

"Just a little," Wendra replied.

Alucius stifled another yawn and squared his shoulders.
Chapter 142
Salaan, Lanachrona

A reddish purple mist erupted from the center of the Table. As the
mist vanished, the figure of a tall, muscular ifrit was revealed. His
eyes were deep purple, his alabaster face almost translucently
white, his shimmering hair black. He did not smile as he stepped
off the Table and looked first at Trezun, then at Tarolt.

Trezun bowed immediately.

"Fieldmaster Lasylt? I had not expected…" Tarolt inclined his head
respectfully, but not deeply.

"Whom else did you expect with so much at stake?" The deep
voice reverberated through the Table chamber. "Whom else…?"
His eyes caught a glimpse of his visage reflected in the now-
silvered Table top. "The dark hair… the paleness… it…"

"It takes some getting used to," Tarolt said. "We stand ready to do
your bidding."

"Where are the scepters? Do you have them under guard?"

"We have located but one, and there is no functioning Table at that
locale."

"Is there a portal?" demanded Lasylt.

"Ah… yes. There was once a Table."

"And you have not attempted to recover it?"

"With but two of us remaining…" Tarolt pointed out.

"I see your problem, especially given a strong Talent-steer being
loose. Once I have rested, I will procure it, and with it we will locate
the other."

"Are the scepters that… critical?" asked Trezun.

"You sent word that this Talent-steer had killed a fully translated
Efran. Is that not true?"

"Yes, Lasylt. But he used local lifeforce attached to local projectile
weapons."

The newly arrived Efran's violet eyes blazed. "You do not
understand, I see."

"But… a projectile weapon?"

"No… any Talent-steer who can bind lifeforce into inanimate metals
and minerals—that is the danger, because that ability can direct the
use of the scepters. Or have you found this Talent-steer?"

"No. He made a translation to Blackstear, but he is no longer
there."

There was a long silence. The senior fieldmaster seemed to
shudder, then took a deep breath.

"Can we assist you?" asked Tarolt.

"Assist me? Ah, yes." An ironic laugh filled the room. "You will. If
only Talent were linked to intelligence. If only… but we cannot
change what is and what is not." Lasylt turned to Trezun. "Are there
any other Tables that can be constructed or rebuilt rapidly?"

"Waleryn—the shadow-engineer in Lustrea—has been working in
Norda to re-create the Table there. He has it operating for
communications and believes that he can have it fully operational
within a few days. Because of its location, once it is operational, it
will boost the grid strength by another fifth."

"That is the first encouraging information I've had from you." A hint
of a smile crossed the taller ifrit's face. "With another Table after
that, we will have enough to translate third-level Talents." Lasylt
nodded, "We could have three hundred Efrans here within a year,
then, and we will be able to warm the atmosphere more. In our
absence, the planet has reverted toward chill, and we must have
greater warmth to boost the lifeforce mass. Even so…" The
faintest frown crossed the broad forehead. "We cannot undo all of
what has already been done."

"What has been done?"

"I will explain… after I rest." Lasylt walked toward the doorway
leading to the steps.

Trezun and Tarolt followed.
Chapter 143

When Alucius and Wendra woke, aroused by the plaintive wails of
a hungry Alendra, indirect light filled the tower room, creating an
amber glow that suffused everything. Alucius put his arms around
Wendra, holding her close for a moment. After a time, he sat up
and took Alendra, to allow Wendra to move into a more
comfortable position to nurse their daughter.

Wendra propped herself into a sitting position on the bed that was
narrow indeed for two and an infant. Her head tilted quizzically. Her
face stiffened. Then, abruptly, tears began to stream from her
eyes.

Alendra began to wail even more loudly, almost despairingly, and
Alucius looked from his daughter to his wife. "What is it?"

"She's gone. They're gone. All the soarers. Can't you feel it?"

Alucius stopped, letting his Talent extend into the tower. The
mistiness of the ley lines to the mirror-portals remained, but the
greenish gold was gone. And for the first time, his Talent was not
blocked by the tower. Beyond the walls, there was not a trace of
the lifeforce energy that might have been a soarer. Not the
smallest trace remained.

Not a trace, as if all of the greenish gold lifeforce that had always
been part of the soarers had been removed from the world, as if
an entire part of Corus had vanished. And it had.

The soarers had always been there, always a part of Corus,
especially of the lands of the Iron Valleys. How could they be
gone?

Yet, even as he asked himself the question, he knew that Wendra
was right. The emptiness of the hidden city was like a gaping hole
in what his Talent sensed. The soarers were gone. Or had there
been only the single soarer at the end? Was the wood spirit of
Madrien gone as well? "They were here last night. She was." His
words sounded empty.

He swallowed. The soarer had been dying the night before, and
she had known it. Alucius should have known, should have
guessed. But… soarers were soarers, not herders. They had
always been secretive and private, and there was no way that a
soarer would have allowed anyone near. That he understood, even
as it saddened him.

"She didn't want us to know." Wendra tried to blot the tears from
her face, but they kept flowing. "I think… she was the last. She had
to be." Several sobs convulsed her. "She didn't want us to know…
so sad… to be so alone…"

So alone. Alucius found it hard to imagine what it must have been
like, soaring through an empty city, trying to hold on, trying to impart
knowledge to others not even of the same race, so that part of the
legacy would live on, trying to remember, to tell what was
important.

As Wendra's sobs subsided, Alucius kept patting Alendra's back,
and her wails subsided into something more like sobbing cries.
After a time, looking at Wendra, he spoke again. "She said it was
up to us. I knew there weren't very many. I just didn't know that she
was the only one. Or that it would happen… overnight."

"She was so tired," Wendra said. "So tired. And lonely… I didn't
see it. I should have."

Alendra whimpered.

"You can hand her to me. She's hungry," Wendra extended her
arms.

Alucius eased Alendra into them. "I'm going to wash up and dress
while you feed her. Then I'll take care of her while you dress."

Wendra nodded, wincing slightly as Alendra began to nurse,
greedily. "Don't be quite such a little piglet… that's hard on your
mother." She shook her head. "About some things, she's like you.
When she gets something on her mind, she's not good at
listening."

"You expect her to listen at less than three months old?" Alucius
asked.

Wendra forced a grin, despite her tear-streaked face. "In some
matters… of appetite… age doesn't matter."

Alucius could feel himself flushing. "I think I'd better get washed
up." He turned to the washstand, realizing abruptly that he needed
to be frugal with the remaining water—unless he wanted to try
soaring down the narrow shaft that was the only way up and down
the tower, and he had his doubts about his success there after his
earlier experiments with soaring.

When he had washed and dressed, he turned to Wendra.

"It will be a bit," she said, looking down at Alendra.

Alucius smiled. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"I should hope not. You get into trouble."

"You got into trouble not going anywhere," he countered.

"Where do we start the search for the scepters?" she asked.

"I have some ideas where they aren't. I think I would have sensed
them—I hope I would have—if they'd been in Blackstear or Soupat
or Hyalt or Dereka… or Tempre."

"The soarer gave us an idea," Wendra pointed out. "If the ifrits can
only travel where there are Tables, don't the scepters have to be
where there is a Table—or where there was one?"

"The map would show the old locations of the Tables where I
haven't been." Alucius nodded. Where had he put the map? He
glanced around, then realized it was on the narrow lower shelf of
the washstand.

He retrieved the map and opened it, studying it more closely,
looking for a hint of something, anything. He smiled faintly, realizing
that the tower room was about the only place where he'd actually
been able to look at the map in anything close to full light.

After a time, he finally saw what he had missed on his previous
observations. There were two purple dots at the upper vertices of
two of the octagons—the ones at Dereka and Lysia. He eased
over beside Wendra and lowered the map. "See? Here and here.
Those don't appear on any of the other Table octagons."

"There are two scepters, aren't there?" asked Wendra.

"That's what the soarer said." Alucius frowned as he studied the
map.

"What is it?"

"I might already have found one of them—except it wasn't there."

Wendra raised her eyebrows.

"There was a hidden room off the old Table chamber in Dereka…"
Alucius went on to explain what he had seen in the chamber,
concluding, "… and I'd wager that the casket once held one of the
scepters. But the scepter was gone."

"There weren't any signs of anything else missing, were there?"

"No one had been in the chamber in years. There was dust
everywhere. Someone might have taken it a long time ago, but not
recently."

"So it was taken years ago. Could we travel there by the ley lines
and see if we could sense where it might lead?"

There was something, something, but Alucius couldn't quite recall
what it was… and he felt that he should remember. "It's not there.
Not now. We should try Lysia."

"Have you been there?" Wendra eased Alendra from her breast
and to her shoulder, patting her back.

"No, but the map says that the colors are yellow and orange. We
can concentrate on that."

"Will it help if we hold hands?" Wendra lowered her daughter to the
other breast. "She's still hungry."

"I don't know. I don't see how it could hurt." Alucius frowned. "What
about Alendra? Do you think… ?"

"She comes with us," Wendra replied. "I'm not leaving her.
Besides, we have to finish this soon. Alendra won't be able to
travel with us for much longer. We don't know how long this will
take. Besides, there are too many ifrits around."

Alucius could have argued about that, but then, his wife's mind was
clearly made up… and there had been far more ifrits in Corus than
he'd thought about, and with the translation tubes open to the ifrits'
world, there was always the chance that another might appear. Or a
whole host of them.

"I won't be that long. Or Alendra won't."

Alucius straightened and walked to the window, looking down and
out at the hidden city, a city that had once held much of a race…
and now held but three herders… and the hopes of both soarers
and herders.
Chapter 144
Salaan, Lanachrona

Purplish mist boiled away from the Table, and a tall figure emerged
from the mist holding a case in both arms. In the holster attached
to the wide maroon belt was a light-cutter whose discharge
formulator had been half-melted, half-shattered.

The ifrit slowly and carefully descended from the Table, easing the
silver and black case into Tarolt's arms. "Careful… barely…
made…"

"Fieldmaster…"

Lasylt sat down on the stone floor. Then his eyes rolled up in their
sockets, before closing. He slowly pitched sideways. Trezun
grasped his garments quickly enough so that he was able to keep
the senior fieldmaster from slamming down onto the stone.

Tarolt opened the hidden doorway and carried the metallic case
into the strong room at the end of the short corridor, returning
quickly—empty-handed. He closed the hidden door.

"What happened?" stammered Trezun.

"Table strain. It's hard to carry something like that through the
tubes," explained Tarolt. "He'll recover quickly. We'll just carry him
up to his room."

Effortlessly, the two picked up the larger ifrit and carried him up the
stairs from the Table chamber, through the conference room, out
into the foyer, and up yet another flight of stairs to a corner
chamber, where a stove suffused the room with strong but gentle
warmth. There, they laid him on the extra-long and extra-wide bed.

Tarolt took the folded sheet of eternal paper from the fieldmaster's
belt, opening it. He smiled as he beheld the map.

"What is it?"

"An ancient map of where all the Tables were." Tarolt fixed his
eyes on Trezun. "I will wait. You must guard the Table. Should the
Talent-steer appear, use a light-knife before he can use any of his
weapons."

"Yes, Fieldmaster."

"Tarolt… still."

"Yes, Tarolt." Trezun nodded and hurried back down the steps.

Tarolt seated himself in the overlarge straight-backed wooden
chair and waited.

Half a glass passed before Lasylt's eyes blinked, and another
quarter before the ifrit coughed and looked around. He finally
caught sight of Tarolt. "You… have… the scepter?"

"It's locked in the storeroom. Trezun is guarding it and watching the
Table with a light-knife."

"Good." The senior ifrit slowly eased himself into a position where
he sat on the edge of the bed and looked directly at Tarolt. He
began to speak, his voice low and gravelly. "We must insist that
Waleryn bring his Table up to full power and immediately bring the
locator here to Salaan. We can lose no time in seeking out and
recovering the other scepter, Then one of you must translate to
that scepter. It will act as a portal."

Tarolt nodded slowly. "I will have to make that effort. Trezun is
limited to Tables."

"That is not all," Lasylt continued. "As soon as you can, Tarolt, you
must use my authority to order the translation of another ten Efrans
here. Now."

"Ten?"

"As I was leaving with the scepter, I could sense your Talent-steer
moving toward Lysia. We retrieved the scepter just in time. He is
far stronger than the ancient ones, and he is searching for the
scepters. He must know their purpose. If we have both here, and
there are always two… or more guarding the Table…"

"We cannot do that without more Efrans," Tarolt said.

"We cannot. That is why we will order ten more here."

"The translation is still dangerous with such a frail grid."

"Order fifteen then, or twenty. Some may perish, but the Talent-
steer must not be allowed to take either scepter."

"I told Trezun to use a light-knife on him should he appear in the
Table, even before he is fully translated."

"Good. We will still need more Efrans. Go and issue the orders."

"Yes, Lasylt." Tarolt inclined his head, then rose from the chair.

"I will be down shortly." Lasylt paused. "The strong room is Talent-
shielded, is it not?"

"It is indeed, and the door is closed."

Lasylt nodded again as Tarolt left the bedchamber and started
down the steps.
Chapter 145

Alucius and Wendra stood at the edge of the silver mirror in the
amber-walled tower. Alendra was strapped firmly into the
carrypack, and Alucius held his rifle in his left hand. All the
cartridges in the magazine had been infused with the darkness of
lifeforce, as had the ten remaining in the loops of his belt. He
glanced at Wendra, and their eyes met.

"Are you ready?" he finally asked.

"No. But I won't be any more ready tomorrow or the next day."
Wendra forced a grin. "And well be a lot more hungry."

Alucius extended his right hand and took her left, and the two
stepped onto the mirrorlike surface.

"Yellow and orange—those are the colors, and they'll seem misty,
almost not there. They might seem hidden behind the blackness,"
Alucius said.

Wendra nodded.

He began to concentrate on reaching the misty darkness of the ley
lines, trying to match what he did with what he felt Wendra was
doing.

He began to sink into the silverness of the mirror and along a
misty-dark conduit toward the deeper and more greenish black
misty darkness beneath the hidden city. He could barely sense
Wendra, but she was beside him, in that fashion of closeness that
he could not touch or reach. The chill did not seem quite so
intense as he recalled, and he tried to concentrate on the portal
that was yellow and orange. Yellow and orange, he tried to project
to Wendra as he focused his mind on traversing the misty
blackness to the far southeast, almost as far from the Aerial
Plateau as one could go and still remain within Corns.

So slowly, the yellow and orange drew nearer, or they drew nearer
to it, veiled by a purplish shadow of an ifrit tube, one that was but
partly there. Alucius continued to send the image of yellow and
orange toward Wendra, but he had no idea if she could sense what
he tried to project. Finally, he concentrated on lifting himself out of
the misty blackness, out of the chill, and back into the world of light
through the yellow and orange.

The barrier before him was one of silvered orange, and he formed
himself into a spearhead of being…

Orange, yellow, and silver mixed in slashing swirls of icy chill a swirl
of chill that exploded away from him…

Alucius stood in the Table depression—alone. He glanced around.
There was no one in the Table chamber besides himself, not even
Wendra. He swallowed. Should he try to go back into the darkness
and chill to find her? Or should he wait a moment?

Then, a swirl of dark mist appeared and Wendra and Alendra
stood beside him.

He reached out and squeezed Wendra's hand. "I was getting
worried."

"I had… a little trouble… breaking through."

"I'm sorry. You have to imagine yourself as a spear or something
sharp."

A rueful smile crossed her lips. "I tried being a hammer. A spear
would have been better."

"Or an axe." Alucius studied the chamber more intently. Unlike the
walls of the other Table chambers, those of the chamber in Lysia
were cracked. In more than a few places, the walls appeared to
have been splintered and broken by gunfire or shrapnel. The
thinnest rays of light penetrated the chamber through cracks in the
stone ceiling, providing a twilightlike illumination.

"I'll get better," Wendra promised, patting Alendra on the back.

Even as Alucius stepped out of the depression that had held a
Table many years before, he could sense an aura of purpleness
as well. It was the first time he had sensed an ifrit in a place where
there was not a functioning Table. He cast out his Talent even
farther, bringing up his rifle as he did… but there was no one else
in the Table chamber, or in the open passageway that led up the
stone steps to an upper level. "An ifrit's been here. He's gone, I
think."

"Is that the purple feeling?"

Alucius nodded.

"It feels cold… worse than a sandsnake or one of those Talent-
creatures on the stead."

"They're very strong, and their clothes are like nightsilk. Don't think
they are, but they've pressed lifeforce into them, and they act the
same way when they're hit with a sabre or a bullet. They might be
even stronger than nightsilk." Alucius inspected the first set of
holes drilled into the stone walls, where once a light-torch bracket
had been.

"I think it's this one," Wendra said from the other side of the
chamber. "There are four holes here, and there are scuff marks in
the dust on the floor."

Alucius walked around the oblong Table depression and joined
her. His eyes took in the holes. Again, his Talent revealed nothing.
"Do you want to try to open it?"

"Why don't you show me? That will take less time."

He extended a thin Talent-probe, turning the leading end as sticky
as drying honey, and sand-rough. He fumbled with what he could
barely sense on the other side of the stone wall. His forehead was
damp with sweat when there was a click and the wall slid aside to
reveal the passageway. A mist of purpleness drifted out of the
passage and around the two herders, but Alucius could tell that the
passageway and the chamber beyond were empty.

Wendra wrinkled her nose. "I know it's something I sense with
Talent, but it smells bad. Alendra doesn't like it, either."

The two eased into the passageway, almost ten yards long and lit
by the faint glow of an ancient light-torch. As Alucius had expected,
at the end was another chamber—exactly five yards square. Large
footprints stood out in the dust that had settled onto the polished
stone floor. As with the chamber in Dereka, a table desk stood
beside the wall in one corner, with a long-legged chair beside it.
Against the wall to the right was a single-wide chest of drawers.

Stretched on the floor in the corner beside the desk was a set of
clothes, the green tunic trimmed in brilliant purple, with matching
trousers and black boots. All the garb had a silvery sheen and held
embedded lifeforce. On the wall adjoining the one closest to the
table desk was an empty niche. Alucius stepped toward it.

Unlike every other bit of stone in the chamber, the stone surface of
the niche was rough and uneven, with deeper gouges at each end.
Alucius could also feel heat emanating from the stone. He looked
down at the rock droplets on the ancient stone floor, then up at
Wendra. "The scepter was here. Not very long ago, either. The
ifrits used one of their light-knives to cut it out of the stone."

"Now what do we do?"

Alucius stopped. "I think I know where the other scepter is… where
it has to be…" He couldn't help frowning as the words left his lips.

"Where?"

"It has to be in Madrien, under the Residence of the Matrial. It can't
be anywhere else. The soarer said that it was locked in pink and
purple, and the entire residence—everything associated with the
Matrial—has an energy that is pink and purple."

"But… you said you destroyed the crystal." Absently, Wendra
patted Alendra, as if to calm the infant.

"I did… but what if the crystal was just something created by the
use of the scepter? That's the only thing that explains it, and it
would explain why the Regent of the Matrial was able to repower
those torques."

"Can we travel there… by the ley lines?"

"We should be able to. I kept feeling a pink and purple portal, but
I'd wager it isn't a portal at all, but that other scepter, and probably
the case that held it in Dereka was designed as much to hide it as
for anything else."

"Then… hadn't we better go and see if we can get it, before the
ifrits do?" asked Wendra.

A rueful smile crossed Alucius's face as he realized that he had
been trying to avoid returning to Hieron and the Residence of the
Matrial. "We should."

"You really don't want to go there, do you?"

"That doesn't matter," he replied. "You're right. We need to get
there before the ifrits do." He turned and started back toward the
Table chamber. "We can come back here later, if we have to."

Wendra followed, humming under her breath to Alendra.

Once she was out of the passageway, Alucius used his Talent to
close the hidden doorway. Then he stepped down into the
depression where the Table used to be, all too many years before.
Wendra stepped down beside him. He took her hand and
squeezed it.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded.

Alucius concentrated.

The three began to sink into the very rock itself, merging into the
misty blackness of the worldthread that they would travel westward,
toward the pink and purple that marked Hieron—and the second
scepter, Alucius hoped.
Chapter 146
Norda, Lustrea

Two oil lamps set in light-torch brackets illuminated the room
whose walls were primarily of ancient stone. On the northern wall,
newer stones showed where recent and hasty repairs had been
made. The stone ceiling displayed years of soot from torches and
lamps.

A single figure stood before the oblong Table that dominated the
middle of the underground room. The odor of wood oil and that of
the energy that powered the light-torches mixed in the air that hung
heavy in the dimly lit chamber.

Waleryn stepped closer to the Table, his eyes fixing on the
purplish glow in the center of the Table, a glow that expanded until
the entire top surface of the Table glowed purple. Almost
immediately, a grid appeared above the surface of the Table.
Close to a third of the sections of the grid were purple; the
remainder were red.

The shadow-engineer concentrated on the grid, and another grid
section changed from red to purple. A moment later, the entire grid
vanished.

The engineer turned and walked to the side of the room, lifting a
wooden box two yards long but less than a third of that in height
and width. Carrying the box, he stepped onto the Table, then
began to sink into it, vanishing into the Table, leaving the barred
Table chamber empty, the oil lamps flickering but slightly.

After a time, the Table glowed more brightly, and the engineer
reappeared, carrying a small pack. He was breathing heavily as he
eased himself off the Table and walked to the crude and flat table
set against the recently repaired wall. There he set the pack down.

He settled onto the stool beside the flat table. Almost a quarter
glass passed before his breathing returned to normal, and he
stood and began to remove items from the pack.
Chapter 147

The purple pink portal became less and less like a portal and more
and more like a brilliant point of crystalline light, burning evilly
through the misty blackness of the ley line that Alucius, Wendra,
and Alendra traveled westward. There was no clearly defined
portal, only two rings of pinkish fire. Alucius tried to signal to
Wendra that they should try to emerge on the lower level. He could
only hope she understood. Silvered purpleness shattered away
from him.

Almost before he broke out of the misty darkness, Alucius was
looking for Wendra, but, this time, she and Alendra were beside
him. The unseen but strongly felt purpleness infused the very air,
filling the entire hexagonal stone chamber.

Alucius had his rifle up and ready even before he saw the ifrit
holding the scepter. In general shape, the scepter was close to the
replica he had seen in the Table chamber in Dulka, a length of
silver and black—two metals exuding light and intertwined—topped
with a massive blue crystal. The crystal glimmered with energy, a
deep and brilliant purple that was almost too bright to look at or
sense directly.

A broad smile crossed the ifrit's face as Alucius started to
squeeze the trigger. Alucius released the trigger pressure. The
pinkish shield had flowed around the ifrit, and Alucius remembered
what had happened when he had tried to strike the first pink crystal
of the Matrial.

The ifrit looked familiar.

"You're Tarolt."

"That is not really my name, but yes, I am. It would have been
much easier if you had just pulled that trigger."

Alucius concentrated on creating a web of blackness to cast
around both ifrit and scepter.

"I don't think so." Purplish energy shredded Alucius's web.

A black javelin of force flew from Wendra toward Tarolt, slamming
into his leg. He limped backward, lowering the scepter so that it
formed a complete shield. Wendra's second javelin struck that
shield, and Alucius could sense the shield weakening.

"How can you believe that turning a world into dead land is good?"
Alucius knew there was little point in asking, but wanted to occupy
Tarolt as he formed another black lifeforce missile, a hard task
indeed, because there was so little lifeforce in the small stone
chamber.

"Good is what enables a people to survive in glory and power and
dignity," replied the ifrit. "Not surviving, or surviving in squalor and
poverty, is bad."

"I can't believe you think that destroying all life on a world—"

"You can believe whatever you wish to believe. What you believe
has no effect on the universe, only on yourself." The ifrit smiled
coldly. "Beliefs change nothing. Actions do. They change the
arrangement of items in the universe. The universe remains as it
was and will be. Beliefs have value only to the believer. There is no
absolute good in the universe; there is only survival. Those who
survive determine which beliefs rule."

"So might makes right?" Alucius hurled another black javelin of
darkness, a javelin that shredded off some of the purple shield.

"Has it ever been otherwise? The universe does not need to have
meaning. It is. You need the comfort of meaning."

Alucius knew that the ifrit was wrong, but now was not the time to
unravel that puzzle. He flung another missile, one that weakened
but again did not penetrate the shield created by the scepter.

"Besides, all life that is superior is the same. Have you asked the
ancient ones what sustains them?"

"The ancient ones? The soarers?"

"The ones you call soarers are but half the species." The ifrit's
smile grew broader—and colder. "They were no different from us,
save that they are dying, and we will live. They have but told you
what they wish you to know. That, too, is the way of all life." He
stepped back into a doorway concealed by a Talent-illusion until
the ifrit shredded it. The tall figure quickly backed up the steps.

Alucius hurried after Tarolt, with Wendra almost at his side,
throwing up a green golden shield before them and aiming another
black missile at the ifrit. Somewhere he could sense Talent-alarms
going off, and bodies moving toward them.

No sooner had Alucius reached the top of the narrow staircase and
stepped through the upper archway than he and Wendra were
enfolded by blinding purplish pink, light that was visible not just to
Talent-senses, but to eyes as well. Alendra whimpered and began
to cry.

As if it had never been destroyed, there, floating in the center of
the stone-walled chamber, rotated a massive, multifaceted crystal.
The Talent-like roots of purple energy no longer flowed into the
rock, but directly to the scepter held by Tarolt. Even the once-
cracked stone walls of the chamber had been regenerated or
repaired, so that the stone was smooth and flawless.

Alucius could sense that the ifrit was having trouble trying to
translate out of the chamber while still maintaining control of the
scepter. As before, Alucius could feel the heat building inside his
nightsilk undergarments, as well as Alendra's and Wendra's
discomfort. He forced himself to cast another Talent-missile at
Tarolt.

Wendra followed with one of her own, then another.

As blackness cascaded around Tarolt, the oak door burst open,
and more than a squad of Matrite special guards poured into the
small chamber. Their pistols came up, some aimed at Alucius and
Wendra, some at Tarolt.

"Shoot them!"

The ifrit raised the scepter, its aura blinding and stopping the
Matrites. Then he vanished.

"Link to the earth!" Alucius ordered. "Now!" Even before he spoke,
he had begun the linking process, extending thin threads.

Beside them, the massive crystal began to slow, no longer
spinning above the stone floor, but beginning to wobble.

Alucius forced himself to concentrate on strengthening and
intensifying his links to everything around him, weaving some of
those threads around Alendra as well. At the same time, as he
began to feel that the links to earth were stronger, he pressed
lifeforce darkness around the faltering purple crystal.

He extended that blackness against the resistance, a resistance
that suddenly shredded into purplish threads that exploded away
from the crystal. Wrapped in its covering of darkness, a darkness
added to by Wendra, the crystal contracted, pulsed, and
contracted again.

"Shoot them! Now!" commanded someone.

Alucius ignored the commands, Talent-pressing darkness around
the failing crystal. A high, whining sound knifed through Alucius's
ears, but he crammed more darkness around the crystal. A heavy,
leaden, splintering sound echoed through the chamber.

Instantly, huge cracks and rents appeared in the chamber's stone
walls. Feeling like an immobile and massive miniature mountain,
tied in place, as well as protected by his threads that felt as though
they went everywhere, Alucius forced yet more darkness around
the crystal.

With a dreamlike slowness, the crystal stopped rotating and
tumbled down toward the stone below. Faint purplish light swirled
as if it were smoke, providing a trail. All the glass and crystal in the
world shattered—that was the sound when the pink purple crystal
struck the stone.

A single piercing shriek followed, so high in frequency that while
Alucius could not hear it, his very flesh felt as though it were being
flayed apart from within. Silver green blackness flared across the
underground chamber… a blinding wave of color and power…
drowning Alucius and Wendra—and Alendra.
Chapter 148
Salaan, Lananchron

A spray of pink and purple Talent-mist appeared in the center of
the Table, concealing for a moment the appearance of Tarolt. The
older ifrit staggered off the Table, pitching forward and landing in a
large crumpled heap on the stone floor of the Table chamber. The
scepter he had carried flew through the air, striking the stone wall
to Tarolt's left, then slamming to the floor. A hairline crack
appeared in the stone.

Trezun moved forward and quickly scooped up the scepter. It was
untouched, seemingly without a mark or a smudge upon it.
Transferring it from hand to hand, as if the metal were too hot to
hold firmly, he glanced toward the other two ifrits who had
appeared in the doorway of the staircase that led back up to the
conference room.

"So that's what it looks like," offered the recently arrived ifrit, a
woman even taller and more muscular than Trezun. "It doesn't
seem that special."

"It is more… special… than you know," replied Lasylt, stepping
forward and taking the scepter from Trezun. "Barylt… you and
Trezun carry Fieldmaster Tarolt up to one of the beds, where he
may recuperate."

"His force levels are low," observed Trezun as he lifted Tarolt's
shoulders. "He must have had some difficulty. He could have
encountered the young colonel."

"Even if he did, he was successful in retrieving the scepter, and
that was what mattered." Lasylt nodded. "Take him up and return
immediately."

The senior fieldmaster watched the Table intently, but the Table
remained inactive, without a flicker in the unseen purple glow that
surrounded its surface. Nor did any other figures emerge from the
Table.

Before long, the other two returned.

"Bring out the other scepter, but leave it in its casket," Lasylt
ordered Trezun.

Barylt remained standing silently beside the Table, one hand
resting on the butt of the light-cutter holstered at her belt.

Wordlessly, the Recorder opened the hidden door to the strong
room and disappeared down the short corridor, returning shortly
with the silver and black metallic case.

"Put the case beside the Table," Lasylt said.

As Trezun did so, the senior fieldmaster took the uncased scepter
and set it on top of the metal case.

"You don't want them in the strong room?" asked Trezun.

"No!" snapped Lasylt. "There is no shield for the one, and it acts as
a portal. If you put them in the strong room, the Talent-steer will be
able to translate directly in and out of the strong room. We cannot
guard both places at once, not effectively, not with but four Efrans,
and we must watch continuously until more of the others arrive."
Lasylt frowned.

"Are the translations not going well?" asked Trezun.

"Several have already perished in the long tubes from Efra. There
is less lifeforce remaining in Efra than we had calculated."

"We may not have to worry about the lifeforce mass here, then,"
suggested Trezun.

"We may not, and you should consider yourself fortunate to be
here," replied Lasylt. "Most fortunate."

Baryk glanced at the Table, then at the bare stone walls and the
unadorned stone floors. The slightest shudder traversed her
frame.
Chapter 149

Time passed. How much, Alucius was not certain, but he began to
unlink from the chamber around him. He glanced at the cracked
stone walls, walls that were beginning to sag inward and would not
long last against the pressure of the soil around and the structure
above. Cracking noises flowed around him, and the stones
underfoot felt unsteady. He could not sense much of anything with
his Talent, and only faint light filled the chamber, light coming from
the doorway that led to the stairs up into the Residence of the
Matrial—or the Regent, Alucius supposed. Only the barest trace of
skeletons lay on the stones inside the entry to the underground
chamber, and the oak door had disintegrated into dust, while even
the iron hinges had vanished into rusty dust that lay heaped at the
base of the stone doorframe.

Had years passed? Alucius swallowed. Had they been frozen in
time when he had linked to the world itself?

"Everything's… dead." Wendra's voice was small.

That was why he sensed little. There was little enough to sense.
Between the ifrit's actions, the failure of the crystal, and their
defenses, they had sucked all the lifeforce out of everything
around them—for yards at least.

"We didn't get the scepter," he said dully.

Wendra said nothing.

Should they have come to Hieron first? Had they failed because
Alucius hadn't wanted to return to Madrien, and the place where
he'd almost died once before? "I'm sorry. We should have…"

"I agreed with you," Wendra said. "We can't do any more here, can
we?"

"No. The scepter was the only thing. Well… except for the torques,
but with the crystal gone, they can't power the torques, and without
the scepter, they can't re-create the crystal."

"We need to get something to eat. I do anyway. We're too tired to
do anything more without eating," Wendra said.

"There's some travel food in my jacket and belt pouch," Alucius
suggested.

"There was. We ate it. The soarer was getting forgetful or tired
about meals."

"We could go back to Dereka…"

"Do we have to go there?" asked Wendra. "The soarer said that
we could travel anywhere along the ley lines."

"I'm sure we can." Alucius's lips quirked into a crooked smile. "But
I don't know how to determine where I am… or whether we'd end
up under several yards of soil and stones? Do you?"

"Oh…"

"The Red House in Dereka isn't too far away from the Table
chamber… and we can check that case that I thought might have
held the other scepter at the same time."

"Can we go?"

He nodded, reaching out and taking Wendra's hand. "There's a
portal in Dereka, where there once was a Table. It's crimson gold."

They walked down to the lower level, where the stone walls
seemed slightly more sturdy. Even so, it seemed to take forever
before they could find the misty blackness beneath the stone and
drop into the world life-force lines.

Deep in the blackness, Alucius wanted to shiver, but he
concentrated on the crimson gold and on projecting that image to
Wendra. He could sense the growing power of the ifrits Tables,
especially the maroon and dark green of Salaan, the blue of Prosp,
and another Table, one of a bright brown, as well as the other older
Tables in Soupat and Blackstear. Then, too, he could feel the
purple and pink of the scepter, almost on top of the maroon and
dark green. Slowly, too slowly, it seemed, they moved closer to the
faded crimson gold of Dereka… until they burst out of the
blackness and through the silver…

Almost before he broke out of the misty darkness, Alucius was
looking for Wendra, but, once more, she and their daughter were
close beside him. Although he had the rifle up and ready, the
ancient Table chamber was empty. He could sense someone in
one of the chambers up the steps and farther toward the north end
of the building.

Alucius stepped out of the oblong pit, and dust swirled around him
as he reached down and offered a hand to his wife.

This time, Wendra was the one to sneeze, but far less noisily than
Alucius usually did. With his free hand, he rubbed his nose, trying
to stop a sneeze before it started. What light there was in the
chamber filtered through the doorway framing the bottom of the
staircase.

They moved quietly up the steps and came out into the smaller
chamber. As he moved to the larger chamber, with the empty
windows overlooking the main north-south boulevard of Dereka,
Alucius realized that it was late afternoon. How long had he been
locked into timelessness? He shivered as he considered that they
could have been locked there for far longer. The soarer had not
mentioned that problem. Then, there were more than a few items
that she had overlooked—and the ifrit had suggested even others.
He wondered what else they would discover along those lines.

Wendra walked toward the low, wide window, looking out to the
west, where the sun cast a glow over the city. "It looks old, and it
feels old."

"It is old," Alucius pointed out. "We need to get out of here. The
stairway down to the lower level and the north doors to the street
are this way." He turned to the right.

Wendra slipped alongside Alucius as they followed the bare-
walled golden eternastone corridors generally northward until they
reached the wide stone staircase leading down. A single beggar,
hearing their steps, scuttled back to the southern side of the
structure so quickly that Alucius never saw the man. Before long,
they walked through the square arch on the north side of the
building. They turned west toward the main boulevard.

Despite the warmth of the afternoon, Alucius left his jacket on to
conceal his uniform. Even so, several of the vendors and peddlers
took second looks at the two herders, but the looks faded into
disinterest as they took in Alendra.

When they reached the main boulevard, Alucius pointed
southward. "You can see the main gates of the palace there… and
the tower."

"It looks just like the one in Iron Stem," Wendra said. "You'd told
me that, but it's hard to believe."

"All the green towers look like that. So do the ones in Tempre."
Alucius motioned to the left, northward. "It's several blocks that
way. And we have to stay out of the middle of the road. That's only
for riders and wagons."

The streets remained less crowded than he had recalled from his
first trip to Dereka, but, perhaps because he was walking with
Wendra, more people looked directly at them. Alendra was
beginning to fuss by the time they had walked the half vingt that
took them to the three-story Red House.

"It is red," said Wendra with a laugh. "Very red. Shutters, doors,
trim…" She grinned. "We could do that to the stead."

Alucius made a face, then laughed. "The food's not bad."

He knew they had to eat, and that they needed rest, but he still
worried that they were losing ground with every moment not spent
seeking the scepters.
Chapter 150

Alendra woke up, whimpering with hunger, as the faintest touch of
gray seeped through the shuttered second-floor windows of the
room in the Red House. While Alucius struggled to find some
alertness, Wendra eased their daughter to her breast.

"I must have been tired," Alucius finally said.

"You were. You were snoring. You don't snore unless you're tired."

Alucius managed a smile, easing himself into a sitting position, his
bare feet on the plank floor. A solid meal and sleep—even on a
most lumpy mattress—left him feeling better than he had in days.
He stood and walked to washstand, where he washed quickly, then
refreshed the water for Wendra.

"I've been thinking…" he began.

"About what the ifrit said about the soarers? I wondered about that,
too." Wendra shifted her weight and repositioned the nursing
infant. "What do you think that he meant?"

"I think I know. It makes sense. I just hadn't thought of it that way.
You know leschec? It has the soarer queen and the sander king,
and the soarer mentioned that they had skill but not strength, and
that you had been brought by the strength of others…"

"You think… the soarers are the women and the sanders the men?
They're so different."

"There's another thing. The sanders kill nightsheep. Why? They
don't eat them, or not their flesh. The sandwolves do, but not the
sanders."

"They take the lifeforce, just like the ifrits do," Wendra concluded,
lifting Alendra to her shoulder and burping her.

"But there is a difference, no matter what the ifrit said," Alucius
pointed out. "The sanders or the soarers don't do that to people."

"They don't? Or they haven't in recent years? And what about the
amber towers? I hadn't thought about it either, but I'd wager they've
got some type of lifeforce in them."

Alucius frowned. "You're probably right. I still feel there's a
difference. "

"There is. The soarers only used a fraction of a world's lifeforce;
they even let themselves die out rather than take too much. The
ifrits squander it all within a few hundred or thousand years, then
move on to other worlds."

"I wonder…"

"We'll always wonder, but maybe… if… after… we can explore the
hidden cities and find out more."

If… Alucius understood that "if" all too well as he sat and
pondered.

After Alendra's needs had been met, and Alucius had to admit that
his wife had been most inventive in dealing with such, they left for
breakfast in the public room, and then, after eating, made their way
down the boulevard on a morning already promising to be hot and
dry, heading for the store where Alucius had purchased food and
other sundries days earlier.

The morning's purchases also included several squares of cloth
for swaddling Alendra, as well as hard cheese, dried fruit, salted
nuts, and another water bottle, which they filled at the public
fountain a block away.

As Alucius capped the water bottle and handed it to Wendra, he
studied the boulevard to the south. Almost a full company of
Deforyan lancers was formed up outside the palace gates, and the
gates had been closed. "We'd better get moving."

"The lancers?"

"They're expecting trouble, and when that sort of thing happens,
strangers aren't welcome."

They crossed the boulevard immediately and walked swiftly
southward. Despite their worries, no one even seemed to look at
them, perhaps because a couple with a child—even if one of them
carried a heavy rifle—did not seem threatening.

As they neared the ancient gold eternastone building that held the
portal, Alucius slipped the illusion of nothingness around them.

"You'll have to teach me that," murmured Wendra.

"You could do it now," replied Alucius as they moved toward the
north entrance to the ancient structure.

After climbing the wide staircase, they followed the long corridor
back, then wound their way to the inside stone stairway that led
down to the former Table chamber. Along the way, Alucius did not
hear or sense anyone. Once in the former Table chamber, Alucius
released the illusion.

"We'll take a look at the hidden chamber first." He walked to the
side of the chamber where the special light-torch bracket had
been. There, he created the Talent-probe with the grasping edges,
wrapping it around the hidden lever beyond the wall. The first two
levers he tried did nothing, but with the third came the snap,
followed by a low grinding. The hidden wall section slid sideways,
revealing the passageway beyond—still lit dimly by a pair of
ancient light-torches.

"Do all the old Table chambers have these secret rooms?"
Wendra absently bounced Alendra. "Just be a good girl now, while
your mother and father see what they can do."

"Most seem to, but I didn't try the ones in Blackstear and Soupat. I
wasn't in very good shape there." Leaving the hidden doorway
open, he led the way along the passageway to the hidden
chamber. Once there, he stepped aside and let Wendra survey it.

As Wendra moved toward the empty scepter case embedded in
the stone, he stepped around her and made his way to the other
ruined light-torch bracket. Again, he tried to use a Talent probe to
find a way to open the door, but nothing worked.

"Let me try," suggested Wendra.

For all of her Talent probes, Wendra had little more luck than had
Alucius.

She looked at him. "What if we tried to transport ourselves on the
ley lines and came out on the other side of the wall? That what the
soarers seemed to do."

"If we could do that…" mused Alucius.

"Then we could take the lines close to the Table at Salaan,"
Wendra pointed out, "and we'd be close to Dekhron."

"We can certainly try, but I think I'd feel better if I started at where
the Table was," Alucius admitted.

"So would I. The thought of getting stuck in solid rock bothers me."

Alucius offered a crooked smile. "I wish you hadn't mentioned
that."

Wendra smiled sheepishly—town sheepishly. "The rock doesn't
bother the soarers, but it might take practice."

"We'd better start." Alucius walked back along the passageway,
casting out with his Talent to see if anyone happened to have
made their way into the lower chamber. While it was unlikely, there
had been lancers investigating once before. His Talent—and his
ears—told him that the Table chamber remained deserted.

He stepped into the oblong depression… concentrating on the
misty blackness below. Immediately, he began to sink…

The chill washed over and through him, and he tried to edge
himself sideways … and suddenly he could tell that he was vingts
away. He refocused himself on the crimson gold and could sense
that he was back close to the Table chamber. Instead of trying to
break through the silvery barrier, he tried to sense/see through it
without breaking through… the image was like a mirror that
undulated like a banner in the breeze, and his head began to ache.
For a moment, he just hovered in the misty blackness, if hovering
was the right term for seemingly being buried in stone.

He tried to extend a thread from himself, one that would serve as
an anchor so that the slightest thought would not propel him
vingts—or scores of vingts—away. Then he drifted sideways,
slowly letting the thread extend from the ley line. Deeper darkness
surrounded him, hut that passed, and he seemed to he in another
corridor. He tried to use the life-force thread to tug himself back to
the Table chamber, and he found himself beyond the mirrorlike
barrier, hut in the Table chamber.

With the chill in his bones growing, he eased out the thread ever so
slowly, heading down what he hoped was the passage to the first
hidden chamber… then beyond… Silver shattered away from
him…

He stood in another narrow corridor, one but barely illuminated by a
single light-torch five yards away, in a bracket high on the wall. The
wall to his right was similar to the ancient chamber beneath the
Deforyan officers' quarters, in that it contained murals—three in a
row, each three yards long and two high—and all rendered in
brilliant colors that had been infused into the very eternastone
itself.

The first mural showed a desolate scene of low, rocky hills, mostly
covered in ice, and heavy gray clouds, and nothing at all living. Not
a tree, a bush, a sprig of grass or even a lichen. Alucius moved
before the next panel. It displayed the same location, save that
there were patches of grass, a few bushes, and other scattered
vegetation across the hillside, as well as a pair of what looked like
scrats at the edge of a gray-water lake. The third panel showed a
circular lake of brilliant blue below the same hills, and a structure of
gold eternastone that resembled the Landarch's palace. Lush
grass stretched toward the hills and a herd of antelope grazed in
the distance, while nearer were several sandoxes being hitched to
an enormous wagon by a pair of ifrits in maroon and green.

Alucius had sensed no life in the corridor or the adjoining rooms,
and because he did not wish to alarm Wendra, he walked quickly to
the open doorway to the first room. The wooden door had been
infused with some lifeforce and swung open at his touch. An ifrit lay
upon the wide bed, but the slightest air currents created by the
door opening touched the figure—that of a black-haired
woman—and the body shivered into dust, leaving only the
shimmering eternal garments.

He watched, openmouthed, taking in the rest of the chamber—with
its carved armoire, the dressing chest, the graceful table desk of a
wood like cherry, a black-bordered mirror, and the nightsilklike
maroon coverlet upon the bed. As in the outer chamber, the chairs
had longer legs than any that would have been comfortable for
Alucius.

He stepped back out of the room and walked to the end of the
corridor, the one that he thought adjoined the chamber that had
held the scepter. A small metal stub protruded from the wall near
the corner. The remainder of the lever lay on the floor. Alucius
could not budge the stub, not with his arms, his legs, or his Talent.

Were the walls closing in on him? He glanced around, deciding
that they were not. Still… he was a herder born, and being
surrounded by stone with no way out, except by Talent, gave him
an uneasy feeling.

He concentrated on extending a thread of Talent toward the
darkness beneath. The return seemed much easier, and so quick
that he scarcely felt the chill.

"Oh… I was getting worried." Wendra let out a deep breath.

"I stopped to take a quick look."

"Quick?"

"Fairly quick. I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"What was there?" asked Wendra.

Alucius shook his head. "Four rooms along a corridor … I couldn't
explain in the time we can go back together."

"Is it safe? How did you do it?"

"It's… it's like leaving a thread, one of those binding us to the
world, except that you make it thicker and anchor it to the ley line.
You leave it anchored until you're certain that you're where you
want to be."

Wendra snorted. "How do you know where you want to be?"

"Just think about it. It's almost like looking through… or at… a
mirror in the dark. If you're worried… try moving just to the open
passageway there, first."

"I just might."

Alucius watched as Wendra vanished, then reappeared in the
doorway to the passage leading to the scepter chamber.

"You were right. It's not that hard, once you try it."

He couldn't help smiling. "You have a knack for that. It took me
much longer."

"That's because all I had to do was start with what you told me."

Alucius had his doubts about that. From what he'd seen, Wendra
picked up Talent matters faster than he had.

"I'll meet you in the hidden rooms." Wendra and Alendra—in the
front carrypack—turned into a misty image, then vanished.

Alucius followed, ending up beside the wall with the broken lever.

He stepped forward, standing behind Wendra as she looked into
the room whose door he had opened.

"How terrible… to be trapped here. What happened, do you think?"

"The Cataclysm, I'd guess. The soarers disrupted everything, and
the ifrits needed Tables. They were trapped. Or maybe the soarers
were stronger and jammed the doors around the scepter."

"Why didn't they do that in Lysia?"

"I think… I don't know… but I think it's because Lysia is too far
south and too hot and damp. The soarer said something about that
before, when I was in the hidden city."

"Did you look at the other rooms?"

"No. I didn't want you to worry." Alucius stepped back.

Wendra followed.

"You open the door. When I opened that one, there was an ifrit in
the clothes, but she turned to dust at just the touch of the breeze
from the door."

Wendra eased open the second door, but the chamber, similar to
the first, held no long-dead ifrit and no clothing laid out as if an ifrit
might have been there. In the third chamber, the body of a male ifrit
lay sprawled across a rug with a geometric design Alucius did not
recognize, woven in brilliant crimson and shades of silvered gray.
Within moments of the door opening his figure vanished into dust
as well, leaving but the eternal clothing.

The last chamber was an armory, with strange riflelike weapons
racked along the wall on the left side. The barrels were not hollow,
but of a solid green crystal. Alucius could sense that whatever
energy had once powered them had long since dissipated. On the
right wall were pistols with the same crystal barrels, and on the rear
wall were what looked to be whips with heavy stocks. The lash of
the whips were thin tendrils so sharp that Alucius could appreciate
their deadliness without touching them.

"Do you think we could find anything we could use?" asked
Wendra.

"We can look."

In the end, even after they had gone through every drawer and
desk in the sealed rooms, there was little of immediate use.
Alucius had pocketed the few strange golds, but the few devices
he had seen either seemed to lack power, as had the weapons, or
were incomprehensible.

"We'll have to come back and study some of these later," he finally
said.

Wendra nodded reluctantly. "I think the air is getting bad, too."

They held hands and slipped into the mistiness and back to the
Table chamber. Alucius set the rifle on the stone and sat down. "I
need a few moments to rest and some water."

"That's good. Alendra's hungry again."

Alucius drank some of the water from his bottle, occasionally
extending it to Wendra. He also kept using his Talent to make sure
that no one crept down the stairs to surprise them.

"I can't imagine living in a chamber like those." Wendra shuddered.
"All that stone around, and no way out if the mechanisms failed.
Even if they were ifrits…" She shook her head.

"They didn't expect their mechanisms to fail." Alucius laughed
softly. "Mechanisms always fail, sooner or later."

Wendra eased Alendra to her shoulder, burped her, and then
shifted her to the other breast. "What do you think we should do
now?"

"Head back to Dekhron, or as close as we can get. The dark green
and maroon Table is at Salaan, and it's on a ley line. It has to be.
That's close enough that we can walk to Northern Guard
headquarters."

"You're going to use the Guard?"

"We have to. We can infuse all the bullets with lifeforce and have
them hold the outside."

"And we'll come in from inside?"

"Do you have a better idea? Sending lancers inside would get
most of them killed. At a distance, the ifrits can't do that much. I
just hope that they haven't translated too many from their world
while we've been learning what to do."

"We couldn't have done it much faster."

Alucius had his doubts. They should have gone to Hieron first.

"You did what you thought was best," Wendra said. "Besides, we
can't change what's done."

Alucius knew that, but it didn't keep him from wishing that he could.

Wendra stood, burping Alendra once more. "She's had enough.
Let's go."

"To Salaan?"

She nodded.

Alucius picked up the rifle with his left hand and took Wendra's
hand with his right. Wordlessly, they concentrated.

The chill darkness welled up around them. Alucius concentrated on
the dark green and maroon beacon—and the purple pink portal-like
circle created by the scepter. He felt as though they rushed toward
the two, and he tried to slow that rush at the end, extending a
Talent-thread as an anchor, trying to press that thought/concept to
Wendra as he rose through darkness, a brownish darkness that he
hoped was the hillside to the east of the Table building. When he
sensed light, he focused on seeing beyond the silver barrier, and
thought he could see a distorted hillside. He pressed forward, and
silver shards flew past and around him.

Alucius found himself on the hillside—or above it, and he barely
kept his balance as he dropped several spans onto the uneven
slope. He turned, trying to find Wendra, with both eyes and Talent.
He could sense that she was nearby, but where?

Then he began to grin.

"That's a nasty trick," he said to the illusion of nothingness she had
created.

The illusion vanished.

"Did I get it right?" asked Wendra.

"You did indeed." Alucius turned, and looking down and to the
west, he saw the building the ifrits had built to house their Table.
"We need to start walking. That's where the Table is, and with only
one rifle, I'd rather not have to fight them off."

"We could use the ley lines again," Wendra pointed out. "If we had
to."

"We could, but… then we'd end up somewhere else, and I think we
need to meet with Feran and figure out how to attack them before
they bring in more ifrits. That's if they haven't already."

They started walking down the hill, a slope covered with sparse
grass, a grayish sandy soil, and scrub brush that Alucius did not
recognize. He glanced toward Salaan, a good vingt and a half to
the northwest. "It's about four vingts to Guard headquarters."

"The walk will do us good."

"As long as the ifrits don't send armed guards after us."

"They won't," Wendra predicted.

Alucius hoped she was right, but he lengthened his stride. They'd
had more than enough delays. Useful as those had proved in
some fashion, he couldn't help but worry that he'd delayed too
much.
Chapter 151
Salaan, Lanachrona

The light of a spring sun shining through high hazy clouds oozed
through the west-facing windows of the conference room, where
four ifrits sat around a table.

Barylt turned her head to look at the window. "Even the sunlight
here offers no warmth." She shivered. "Everything is so cold… and
so crude. There's no sculpture, no art, no music."

"That's what we have to build and create," Tarolt replied. "All
worlds are crude before we mold them. They're often cold, as well.
It is much warmer in the south, but we were limited by where we
could push through the Table tube after the barriers gave way."

"We almost didn't make the long translation," Trezun added.

Lasylt straightened, lifting his hand in an imperious signal for
silence. His face stiffened, and his eyes took on a faraway look.

The silence continued. The other three looked at the senior
fieldmaster. In time, he lowered his hand, and his face relaxed
slightly.

"What was it?" asked Tarolt.

The senior fieldmaster did not reply immediately. Then his eyes
refocused, and he looked at Tarolt, seated directly across the
polished wooden table from him. "There were two ancient ones, on
the hillside to the east. They hovered there for several moments.
Then they were gone. Or their use of lifeforce vanished." His lips
tightened. "You said they were dying."

"They are less than a handful, Fieldmaster, that is, of those who
direct the species. That does not mean that a few may not linger. It
might also have been the colonel and the woman with him. She
might have been one of the ancient ones. I could not tell."

"Either way, I suppose it does not matter, save that they must be
blocked and defeated." Lasylt continued to frown, "But with the
Talent-steer still loose, and two with the powers of the ancient ones
seeking out the Table… we dare not fail. Too much is at stake. We
will have to move the master scepter here from Efra in less than a
year, and we have far too few Efrans here on Acorus."

Barylt nodded, not quite emphatically.

"Less than a year?" asked Tarolt. "You had said before… three to
five years."

"It is taking more energy to maintain the tubes than we had
calculated, and the supporting lifemass birthrate on Efra is
declining more quickly than predicted. The Efran steers are
spiritless, worse than those here on Acorus."

"Do you know how many Efrans tried to make the long translation?"
asked Tarolt. "In response to your orders?"

"More than twenty," replied Lasylt.

"Yet only eight survived?" Trezun's voice carried a hint of
incredulity.

"Ten," replied Lasylt. "Two of them mistakenly translated to the
new Table at Norda. Once they recover, they will translate here to
help protect the scepters."

"Is the young colonel that strong?" asked Barylt.

Tarolt laughed. "He's survived two translations through barriers,
and he almost broached the very shields of the scepter. He has
managed to kill three shadow-Efrans and one true translated Efran,
and he can translate to both Tables and portals. Yes, I would say
that he is strong."

"He is nothing compared to what we offer, but he is strong enough
to steal the scepters, if we are not watchful and prepared to defend
them. When the others have recovered, we will hunt him down like
the cowardly jackal he is. Once our numbers increase, we will have
no more of this nonsense. Steers must be steers, and we must
rule them to create the order and beauty we bring to a world."
Lasylt added, "Shortly, we will seek out the colonel so that he
cannot act against us."

"If he is not already," murmured Trezun under his breath.

Tarolt glared at the Recorder.
Chapter 152

Alucius and Wendra had walked through Salaan and over the
ancient River Vedra bridge, then westward in Dekhron along a side
street paralleling the river road, because Alucius didn't want to be
recognized and have to explain… or refuse to explain. By the time
they were a hundred yards east of the open gates to the Northern
Guard post, it was early afternoon. Even though the day was windy
and cool, under high hazy clouds, he was sweating, and his feet
ached. He was used to riding long distances, not walking, and
riding boots weren't that well designed for walking on hard-
surfaced roads.

Alendra was protesting that she was hungry, and a certain odor
suggested that other matters needed attention as well.

"It won't be that long," Wendra crooned. "Just a little longer, little
girl, and we'll get you cleaned up and fed. Just a little longer."

Alendra's cries suggested that a little longer was far too long to
wait.

The sentries at the gate watched as the two walked closer. With
the hand not carrying the rifle, Alucius unfastened the riding jacket
enough to show the colonel's insignia he had replaced on his tunic
collar.

"That you, sir? Colonel?"

"It's me. Things didn't quite go as planned. We've had a long walk."
Alucius smiled, "One of you probably ought to go tell Majer Feran
that we're back."

"Yes, sir!" The younger sentry turned and ran toward the
headquarters' building. Alucius and Wendra kept walking.

Ahead of them, the young lancer's voice echoed through the post.
"Majer! The colonel's back! Big as life!"

Feran was standing outside, watching as Alucius limped up to the
headquarters. He shook his head. "Couldn't you have found an
easier way to spend time with her, sir?"

Alucius laughed, as much at the dryness of Feran's voice as
anything else. "I didn't plan it that way. I thought the traders were up
to something. They were, and Wendra's disappearance was
connected to it. Once we get her settled in the quarters, I'll fill you
in on what happened."

Alucius caught sight of a familiar figure in the doorway. "Dhaghet…
would you help my wife up to the quarters?"

"Yes, sir."

Wendra smiled at Alucius, an almost enigmatic expression, but
one that was both warm and a warning to him not to reveal too
much.

"I'll be up later," he promised.

"Do what you need to do."

Alucius nodded, watching as Dhaghet escorted her toward the
steps to the upper level. Then he turned and walked into
headquarters. Once inside, he made his way into the colonel's
study—his still, he imagined—and waited for Feran to follow.

Feran shut the door.

"Where have you been?" asked the older officer. "We found your
mount in an orchard south of Salaan. A grower reported it. I was
holding off reporting your disappearance."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." With a deep breath, Alucius settled
into the chair behind the desk, happy to get off his feet.

"Was this… the traders? Tarolt?"

"It's worse and more complicated than I'd thought. I started out
tracking down Tarolt because I thought he had to have used Talent
to steal from the Guard. He caught me off guard and locked me
up, in a special way, and I got shot up some more…"

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Feran asked dryly. His eyes
narrowed, and he frowned. "The traders have Talent?"

Alucius had thought out how he wanted to approach that question.
"We had it backward. The traders are working with the Regent.
They might even be controlling her, rather than the other way
around. That's why they don't want anyone to win. Tarolt has more
Talent than the prophet did. That's how so many old traders died,
and why all the others do what he wants, He's got two or three
others with Talent working with him. He probably used Talent to
control Weslyn. That could be why he and Imealt tried to kill me."

"I wondered about that. It didn't make sense," Feran said slowly.
"Not unless they knew you had Talent. You've always been a
target. There have been more bullets aimed at you than at anyone
else." He paused, then asked, "Is it because you're the only one
who can stand up against that kind of Talent?"

"I didn't think so at first, but that just might be it." Alucius offered a
shrug. "You remember the traders with the silver wheel on their
wagons?"

"The ones who supplied the prophet? I thought that was Halanat
and his son."

"It was. But Tarolt was the one behind it. He's been controlling
everything." Alucius leaned forward slightly. "I was scouting out his
place south of Salaan, but he'd been watching me, and they set up
a trap. I guess I got too cocky. I ended up in a strange place with
stone walls all around. The guards there weren't as good as Tarolt
and his men, but it took some time to get free, and then I found
Wendra." Those words were true in a sense, as true as Alucius
dared to make them.

"I won't ask how you managed that." After a pause, the majer
asked, "What can we do?" He smiled, crookedly. "Knowing you,
you've got a plan. And knowing you, you'd not be too happy with
anyone who hurt your wife."

"I'm not. But I'm even angrier at what Tarolt has done, and all the
lancers killed on all sides just so they can get more power and
golds. We've got a war between Lanachrona and Madrien, and if
we don't do something, before long the Regent will be attacking all
our companies in the north."

"You think that stopping Tarolt will help?"

"More than you know."

Feran shook his head. "When you talk like that, it's hard to believe
otherwise."

"You've seen it. Weslyn did what they wanted. If we hadn't come
back when we did, what would have happened to the Iron Valleys?"

"Nothing good. So… what do we do now?"

"We stop Tarolt and the handful around him. Most of the traders
have just been controlled by Tarolt and Halanat. Halanat's dead.
We take care of Tarolt, and things will eventually settle down. But . .
. we'll have to be very careful. We can't storm his stronghold the
way we did with the prophet. It would take years for the Guard to
recover from that, and the Lord-Protector might want both our
heads—or at least our immediate resignations or dismissals. And
we'd lose a lot of troopers to Talent, and we don't need that,
either."

"I can see that," Feran said. "If it's possible, I'd like to stay in
service and alive long enough to collect a stipend."

"I'd like that, too. So… Wendra and I will do the dirty work—"

"Wendra? She… you've got a child."

"She's also a herder, and I need someone who can resist Talent
and handle a rifle." Alucius needed more than that, but that was as
much as he was about to admit.

Feran chuckled ironically. "Anything that needs two of you…"

"Tarolt and his two assistants can use Talent up close, but not from
a distance. We'll take advantage of that. We'll use Faisyn and first
squad to keep them pinned inside so that they can't escape."

"Then what?"

"Tarolt and his people are holed up in a building just south of the
orchard—it was an apricot orchard, wasn't it, where you found the
chestnut?"

"All those fruit trees look alike to me."

"We're just going to sneak in the underground entrance and flush
them out."

"Just like that? You and Wendra?" Feran raised his eyebrows. "Are
you going to stay in one piece this time, or is this going to be like
the business with the prophet?"

"It could be worse," Alucius admitted.

"Can't we just…" Feran paused. "They were really behind the
Regent?"

"And Weslyn, and the attacks on Twenty-first Company when we
were at Emal."

"How many are there?"

"Three that I know of, but there could be more. They were training
more people in using Talent. I don't know where they came from,
but they could use Talent." Again, Alucius was stretching the truth.

"How about two squads?"

Alucius considered for a moment. "Two would be fine. I don't like
the idea of riding an entire company up to a trader's building. Oh,
and I need a mount for Wendra, and another rifle for her. I'll pay for
them, but she'll need them."

"The man is trying to save his homeland, and he still thinks about
not abusing his position." Feran shifted his weight in the wooden
chair. "Then, that's another reason why I trust you when you tell me
something strange like this. It also doesn't hurt that you're always
right. Anyone who wagers against you loses."

"Not always. I did end up in the Matrite forces."

"True. But who else ever escaped, except the ones you brought
back?"

"There must have been some," Alucius demurred.

"When do you want to do this?" asked Feran.

"Tomorrow morning, starting two glasses before dawn."

"I could have guessed. You've always had that herder habit of
getting up early."

Alucius laughed, once. "I'd prefer to sleep later, but I need the
darkness to set up things, and I worry about their bringing in more
Talent."

"Tarolt can't be just a trader."

"He's not. But we'll leave it at that."

"So long as you're colonel, that's fine by me."

"So long as I'm the one explaining? I'm not sure I'll ever be able to
explain. But it doesn't matter. We have to stop Tarolt before he
does any more damage."

"With what he's done already, that's good enough for me. How do
you want to approach his stronghold?"

Alucius opened the drawer, looking for paper on which to sketch
out his plan, and Feran eased his chair up to the other side of the
desk.

It was late afternoon by the time Alucius and Feran had finished
working out the details, including briefing Faisyn on the particulars
of the next morning's attack. Alucius had only munched on some
dry travel bread, and his stomach was growling as he walked up
the steps to the commander's quarters.

He had barely closed the door when Wendra met him, draped in
one of his tunics.

"It was good to get washed up, but I just had to wash out
everything I'd been wearing. I hope you don't mind."

He eyed her appreciatively. "I don't mind at all. Where's Alendra?"

"She's sleeping in the second bedroom."

Alucius grinned widely.

Wendra flushed.

After a moment, they both laughed.
Chapter 153

Early on Tridi morning, two and a half glasses before dawn, Alucius
had finished his simple breakfast of bread, cheese, dried fruit, and
water. So had Wendra, and she had just changed Alendra and
strapped her into the carrypack.

"You're wearing nightsilk?" asked Alucius.

"I told you I was. That's why I washed it yesterday."

"Are you sure you can use the rifle with her?" asked Alucius.

"I'm sure." A tinge of exasperation colored Wendra's voice. "The
carrypack holds her out of the way, and it's nightsilk. I'm used to it.
I've ridden the stead and shot sandwolves with her. I've even killed
a black sander and one of those pteridons…"

Alucius hadn't realized that the wild translations had continued to
track Wendra. She'd never said a word.

"… Besides, it will take two of us. You've gotten hurt every single
time you've gone against the ifrits by yourself. And I'm not leaving
Alendra. Don't even suggest it."

"She'd be safe here," Alucius ventured.

Wendra looked directly at him. "For how long… if anything
happens to either of us? I can't help you if I'm worrying about her,
and you can't do this without me. We have to do it together."

"I could detail a squad."

"How much good would they be against those ifrits?"

Alucius decided against saying more. "We'd better head down to
the courtyard." He slipped on the nightsilk riding jacket. With the
vest under his tunic, he trusted that his body was as well protected
as possible. Wendra was wearing his lighter nightsilk riding jacket,
with the bottoms of the sleeves rolled up. He just hoped that they
wouldn't come under rifle fire from the ifrits.

He picked up both his rifles and slung the saddlebags over his
shoulder. All that was inside were packages of travel fare, as well
as two belt water bottles. All the cartridges in his belt and in the
magazines of his rifles and Wendra's rifle were already infused
with dark lifeforce, but they needed to do the same for the rifles of
the lancers who would be accompanying them.

Alucius waited at the door for Wendra and Alendra, then closed it
behind them. It thudded shut with a heavy dullness.

Dhaget had their mounts saddled and waiting, but after putting the
saddlebags in place, Alucius took a moment to check everything
before slipping the rifles into their cases. Wendra had already
mounted by the time he finished. As the two squads began to form
up in the darkness, Alucius and Wendra began to infuse the
cartridges of first squad with lifeforce darkness.

"That's not tiring you, is it?" he asked.

"Dear… I'm fine."

Alucius winced. Somehow, it was different with Wendra
accompanying him. She was more capable than most of the
lancers, if not all of them, and yet… he couldn't help worrying.

"If I fussed over you," she whispered quietly, leaning toward him,
"the way you are over me, you'd have removed my head a good
glass ago."

He flushed, glad that it was dim enough in the courtyard that she
could not see. "I'm sorry," he finally replied, in a low voice.

"You don't have to be sorry. Just don't do it anymore."

Alucius couldn't help smiling.

Faisyn reined up, less than three yards away. "First and second
squads are present and ready, Colonel."

"Thank you, Faisyn. I'd like to say a few words to them before we
head out."

"Yes, sir." Faisyn turned his mount. "Listen up. Colonel's got a few
words for you!"

Alucius urged the chestnut forward, then reined up, waiting for the
last murmurs to die away before speaking, using a touch of Talent
to boost his voice and project absolute conviction. "As some of
you may know, I was on a mission for the Lord-Protector, trying to
find out some things. What I discovered is that a trader here has
Talent, just like the prophet. This trader was the one who trained
the prophet, and he was the one who corrupted Colonel Weslyn,
They've been working to weaken the Northern Guard so that the
Regent can move into parts of the Iron Valleys. This morning, your
job is simple. You're to make sure that no one escapes from the
trader's stronghold. These people are like the prophet's lancers.
They'll keep coming and try to kill you until they're dead. They're
about as evil and as low as anyone can be, and they've done just
about everything they can to weaken the Guard and get you and
the other lancers killed off so that they could make a few golds.
We're going to put a stop to it. When we get where we're going,
senior squad leader Faisyn will deploy you so that you can cover all
the entrances to the stronghold. Under no circumstances are you
to leave your group. That's all." Alucius turned to Faisyn. "Let's
head out."

"Colonel's detail, form on the colonel."

Four lancers rode forward, headed by Dhaget and Fewal, moving
in behind Alucius and Wendra. Once they were in position, Alucius
urged the big chestnut toward the gates. Wendra kept pace.

"Squads, forward! Silent riding! Silent riding!"

The small force rode through Dekhron, toward the River Vedra
bridge. Outside of insects, and the occasional squalling of a stray
cat, or the barking of a dog, the loudest sound was that of hoofs on
the street, a clicking that sharpened once they turned onto the
eternastone high road north of the bridge.

Selena had set shortly after sunset, but the tiny green disc of
Asterta was close to its zenith as Alucius reached the midpoint of
the bridge. Was that a sign? With a wry smile, Alucius dismissed it
as mere coincidence.

Few as the lamps were in Dekhron, by comparison, Salaan was
totally dark, and Alucius had to rely on both his Talent and his
herder's night-sight to pick out the side road leading toward the
Table building—and the scepters within. All the time, Asterta stood
high in the predawn sky, symbol of the ancient goddess of war, a
tiny, bright green disc shedding little light.

As Alucius led his force away off the side road and westward along
the lane toward the eastern end of the orchard that bordered the
Table building, the faintest trace of gray had begun to appear
above the eastern horizon. They had ridden only a few hundred
yards down the lane when Alucius turned in the saddle and
whispered, "Faisyn!"

"Sir…"

"Here's where we leave you. You know what to do. Don't let anyone
get close to you and the men, and don't let them escape. If you
shoot someone, leave them where they fall."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius turned the chestnut to the south, leading the way across
the meadow toward the dip in the hillside. Tarolt's Table building
was almost a vingt to the southwest from the point he and Wendra
had picked out. When they reached the base of the low hills,
Alucius guided the chestnut up the swale, extending his Talent
sense, trying to seek out the ley lines beneath the clay and rock of
the hillside.

Halfway up, he reined the chestnut to a halt. "This is as close as we
can ride."

"Yes, sir."

After he dismounted, Alucius handed the chestnut's reins to
Dhaget, while Wendra handed those of her roan to Fewal. Alucius
took both his rifles from their cases, then looked up at Dhaget.
"This could be over in a glass, or it could take half a day. If you see
anyone coming from the building to the west, shoot them.
Otherwise, just wait."

"Yes, sir." Dhaget's voice held a slight question.

"We're going to try to enter through a hidden underground
entrance. You can't do it unless you're a herder or have Talent."

"Yes, sir."

Alucius looked to Wendra and Alendra. Their daughter was awake,
peering through the predawn dimness, but making only slight
gurgling sounds.

"We'll walk up a ways."

Wendra nodded.

After about thirty yards, Alucius stopped. "Can you feel them?" He
hooked the second rifle to the makeshift clip on his belt.

"I think we're close enough."

"We'll try to come out on the east end of the Table room, and you'll
have to be ready to fire the moment you can… If we don't have
time to reload, we drop under and come back here."

"I'm taking whichever side I'm on, and you're taking the other?"

"That's right."

Alucius concentrated on letting a Talent-probe weave through the
ground beneath him, seeking a firm contact with the misty
blackness of the ley lines beneath. As he probed, he was ever
more aware of Wendra's presence. He brought up the rifle into a
firing position, knowing that he would emerge in that same position.
Wendra followed his example.

Alendra gurgled happily.

"There…" he murmured, as his probe touched and linked to the
darkness below.

"Me too."

Alucius felt himself merging with the blackness beneath and with
the hillside as he dropped down toward the ley line. He could
sense Wendra and Alendra as well, even as they reached the chill
darkness that they would travel such a short distance. Above them
was the purpled hard blackness of the ifrit's translation tube, and
ahead were the maroon and green of the Table and the purple
pinkness of the scepter and the portal it created. The silvery barrier
wavered before him, and he could make out two ifrits beyond the
Table.

Silver splashed away from him…

His finger tightened on the trigger, but he had to take a half step to
steady himself.

Crack! Crack! Wendra had gotten there first and was already firing.

Crack! Alucius's first shot took the ifrit on the left, for he was to the
left of his wife, squarely in the chest. The ifrit man staggered.

The second shot went through the broad forehead.

The other ifrit dropped.

Another figure in purple and maroon scrambled down the
steps—and dropped as both Alucius and Wendra fired together.

A fourth ifrit appeared, and a line of blue flame flared toward
Alucius.

Wendra's shot knocked the ifrit off balance, and Alucius jabbed a
Talent-probe toward the weapon. The weapon flared purple, and
Wendra's second shot dropped the ifrit.

"Reload now!" Alucius said.

Wendra deftly slipped the cartridges from her belt into the
magazine while Alucius covered the steps, probing with his Talent
to find how many other ifrits remained. He hadn't thought that Tarolt
had been among those who had rushed them.

"You now," Wendra said.

Alucius reloaded quickly, but the stairwell remained empty,
although he could sense five other ifrits somewhere on the upper
levels. He edged forward around the left side of the Table while
Wendra took the right side.

"The Table…" murmured Wendra.

Alucius didn't have to look. He could sense a well of force rising
from the oblong beside him, force linking to an ifrit.

Pinkish purple filled the stairwell, a shimmering crystalline curtain.

"Don't shoot," Alucius murmured. "Not at the pink. It'll throw the
bullet back at us."

"What…?"

"Darkness. Lifeforce darkness… we need to surround it."

The purple-pink shield bulged into the Table chamber. Behind it
came an ifrit, a male figure taller and broader than any Alucius had
seen, an ifrit almost as large as the oversized statue in the Table
chamber in Dulka.

"Most ingenious… especially for Talent-poor steers. Use your
weapons…"

Alucius flung a web of blackness across the purple shield, blocking
the ifrit from view, but that blackness began to fade, and the
purpleness began to shine through the blackness, slowly
dissolving it.

"The scepter!" Wendra pointed toward the side of the table. "He's
drawing on it."

"Can you use blackness against it?" Alucius asked.

Wendra's face tightened. Alendra whimpered.

A line of purple flame flared toward Wendra.

Both Alucius and Wendra raised green black shields, stopping the
jolt of power, but Alucius ended up taking a step backward, so
great was the pressure. He glanced sideways to see that Wendra
also had been forced back.

Before the ifrit could direct another flare of purple at them, Alucius
aimed a black Talent javelin at the ifrit's shield, flinging it with all the
force possible. The shield shivered… contracted, and then
expanded to fling the blackness away from it, back toward Alucius,
thrusting him against the wall.

Even wearing nightsilk, Alucius could feel the impact of stone
against his back.

"Link to… the ley lines," suggested Wendra. "Not to the world,
but… lifeforce. Draw directly…" The words were forced out, as if
against great pressure.

Another purple spear flared toward them. Alucius managed to
parry it, and the energy slammed into the wall beside him. Droplets
of molten stone splattered around him. One burned the back of his
hand.

The purple pink shield grew brighter, and hot like a summer sun,
then even hotter. Waves of heat surged toward Wendra and
Alucius.

Alucius linked to the blackness beneath them, the blackness of the
ley lines, with all his Talent, letting the lifeforce flow through him,
and around the scepter beside Wendra. He could feel her linking
into the lifeforce—all the lifeforce of Corus.

Darkness welled out and through them, creating a wall of
blackness that blocked the sunlike blaze that had heated the air in
the Table chamber so much that each breath burned.

Alucius found himself coughing while still trying to channel the dark
lifeforce of Corus itself from the ley lines and the world into the wall
of greenish blackness that he and Wendra had built—a wall of
lifeforce that had finally halted the progress of the blazing purple
shield. Even so, the air in the Table chamber remained stifling.

The purple shield pulsed.

Alucius and Wendra pressed back.

"We… can't let him… get to the Table," Wendra panted.

"He's strong."

Alucius pressed more darkness against the shield, and around the
unshielded scepter, trying to deny its force to the ifrit. Wendra
followed his example.

Sweat poured from Alucius's forehead, and he felt as though he
had been carrying chests filled with lead.

Abruptly, the purpleness shivered.

Alucius lifted his rifle, waiting, adding more darkness to the
cartridge in the chamber and those in the magazine.

Dark purpleness exploded away from the stairwell and the entry to
the Table chamber, revealing the looming purple figure who held a
light-cutter.

Alucius fired first, one shot right after the other. Both slammed into
the ifrit's suddenly revealed forehead, and he toppled forward.
Flame filled the stairwell with such intensity that the stone walls
glowed for a moment.

Holding his rifle ready, and ignoring the other rifle's impact against
his knees, Alucius charged past the table and over the bodies of
the ifrits. The heat from the stone walls of the staircase was so
great that the sweat on Alucius's forehead and neck evaporated
instantly before he was halfway up the steps.

As he neared the top of the stairs he saw another figure and fired.
Once more, the ifrit's garments stopped the bullet, but the impact
staggered the woman. Alucius used the last two shots in the rifle to
stop her.

Wendra, following him up the stairs, fired past his shoulder, and yet
another ifrit dropped.

There were words in another tongue, coming from the foyer
beyond the conference room. Alucius thought he understood
them, not knowing how or why. He edged up beside the archway
into the foyer, less than three yards from the ifrits, but protected by
the internal stone walls of the building.

"The ancient ones!"

"Do something!"

"They can't stand against the light-cutters…"

Alucius leaned the empty first rifle against the wall and wrenched
the second from its clip, cocking it as he did, and extending his
Talent to the foyer, where three ifrits had raised weapons—the
ones that used light to cut through everything.

Wendra eased against the wall beside him.

With a cold smile, Alucius extended a Talent-probe, quickly
unlinking the crystalline linkages within each weapon. "Can you
reload?" he whispered.

"Just a moment."

Even before she had slipped the magazine back into place,
Alucius had determined where the three stood.

"We'll try unraveling them…"

Two Talent-probes snaked around the edge of the archway, then
arrowed toward the three remaining ifrits.

Alucius could feel the jolt as his probe struck the Talent-armor of
the ifrit. He just slipped around that and arrowed toward the ifrit's
main node. Purple light flared, and the edge of the archway boiled
away, rock and glass droplets clinking like rain on the stone entry
foyer flooring.

Wendra was far more deft than Alucius, and in instants, one of the
ifrits shuddered and toppled forward. Moments later, the second
shuddered and fell.

The third turned, and started to wrench the doorway open.

Alucius leapt clear of the archway, lifted his rifle and fired. It took
three shots before the last ifrit lay on the floor.

He continued to study the building with eyes, ears, and Talent.

"There's no one left," Wendra said dully.

"We need to move the scepters out of sight. There's a hidden
room."

"Like the others off the Table chambers?"

"Yes." Alucius paused. "Are you all right? Is Alendra…"

"We're all right. I think… she's a little… awed… stunned…
something… she senses Talent already, I think, but she doesn't
know what it is."

Alucius waited.

"You're used to this. With people, I mean. I've killed sandwolves,
and sanders…" She shook her head. "It was all so fast. There
were ten ifrits… people… and they're dead. I know we had to…
but… they are dead, and they thought they were doing what was
right for them."

"They probably thought that." Alucius nodded back toward the
staircase back to the Table chamber. Absently, he blotted his
sweating forehead. He hadn't noticed it before, but the rooms were
hot, almost stifling, and the stove in the conference room was
pouring forth heat.

"It is hot."

"The soarers said that their world was warmer." Alucius moved
past the circular table, where several crystal mugs remained, half
full with a clear liquid. He started down the steps, avoiding the two
bodies, and then reentered the Table chamber, moving past the
other bodies.

As Wendra had indicated, there were two boxes against the
northern side of the Table. One was metallic black and silver—a
match to the empty casket still embedded in the rock in
Dereka—and the second was a simple wooden case, through
which Alucius could sense the purple-pink pulsing power of the
scepter that had been the basis of the powers of the Matrial and
the Regent.

"Can you open that door?" Alucius asked. "The hidden one?"

Wendra moved to the light-torch bracket and twisted it. Nothing
happened. She frowned, then concentrated.

"There's some sort of Talent-lock on this," she finally said.
"They've wrapped Talent around it."

"Can you undo it? Dissolve it with darkness?"

"I think so… I've got it." The section of stone wall silently slid open.

"Wait a moment." Alucius used his Talent to check the
passageway and the chamber beyond, but he detected no one.

The two eased into the two-yard-wide corridor and followed it to the
single chamber at the end. A weapons rack, holding a single light-
cutter and brackets for twelve more, was the only thing affixed to
the walls. A sturdy long table, holding five chests, was set against
the wall to the left.

Wendra opened one of the chests, then stepped back. "It's filled…
with golds."

"I thought there might be something like this." Alucius set his rifle
against the wall. "I'll carry the chests out, and the scepters in, then
we'll close this up." He looked at Wendra. "Once I do, could you
put Talent around it, in the way that the ifrits or the soarers did? A
Talent-lock of sorts?"

"I can try."

Alucius lifted the first chest, carrying it out, then returning with the
black and silver scepter casket, far heavier than it looked. He was
sweating profusely by the time he had finished moving chests and
scepters. After that, he reclaimed one of his rifles and watched
with his Talent as Wendra closed the secret stone door and
Talent-locked it, so that merely turning the light-torch bracket would
not open the hidden door.

"Now… we'll have to tell the others."

Wendra started for the steps.

"No. We'll have to go back the way we came."

"That's right." Wendra offered a wan smile. "You left orders to
shoot anyone who left the building." She took a deep breath.

Alucius started to link with the ley blackness before realizing that he
was still linked.

He and Wendra dropped into the chill, almost welcome after the
heat of the Table building. With each use of the ley lines, the world
lifeforce lines, Alucius was becoming more aware of what lay
outside and above—and of where Wendra was. They eased
themselves to a point that looked—through the wavering silver
barrier—to be behind a stand of scrub brush less than forty yards
uphill from the waiting lancers. The silver flashed away from them.

They stood in the slanting light of the first glass past dawn, dew still
on the shadowed sparse grass and the leaves of the scrub oak.
Just a glass. Alucius was always amazed at how quickly some
things happened and how slowly others did.

"Ahhhh…" The first syllable was Alendra's.

"She's hungry," Wendra said wryly. "She's had her adventure, and
it's time to eat."

"Let's let them know we're back."

They turned downhill and stepped out from behind the brush.

"Dhaget! Fewal!" Alucius called.

"Sir. We heard shots. Are you all right?"

"This time."

"That's because you didn't do it alone," murmured Wendra.

Alucius could hear the smile in her words. "You don't have to
remind me."

"Oh, yes, I do. We still have to deliver some scepters."

Alucius felt a chill run down his spine at her words. "As soon as we
get some respite. And you feed our little friend."

Wendra nodded.

Wendra's words had reminded Alucius of how little time they had.
Days before, there had only been four ifrits. They had found ten,
and he had no idea how many were elsewhere, in Prosp or Norda.

Dhaget and Fewal rode uphill and met the two herders halfway.

Dhaget looked at Alucius for a long moment, then at Wendra. So
did the other three lancers. Alucius glanced at his wife. He didn't
see any great difference… except… he thought that she seemed
somehow… more alive… a little larger than life.

There wasn't much Alucius could do about that. He took Wendra's
rifle, checked it, and slipped it into her saddle case while she
mounted.

"You're missing a rifle, sir," observed Fewal.

"I left it inside the stronghold. I'll get it when we go back." Alucius
mounted the chestnut. He turned to Roncar. "I'd like you to ride
back to headquarters and have Majer Feran join us. We'll also
need a heavy wagon to move some gear back to the post."

"Yes, sir." Although a puzzled expression crossed the lancer's
face, he nodded acknowledgment and turned his mount back
toward Salaan.

Alucius and Wendra rode slowly back across the meadow, then
turned west on the lane through the apricot orchard, followed by
the remaining three lancers.

Faisyn met them near the end of the orchard—almost at the spot
where Alucius had tied the chestnut when he'd first investigated the
Table building.

Like Dhaget, Faisyn studied Alucius for a moment before
speaking. Then he gave the minutest of headshakes. "Sir? We
heard shots a while back… but no one came out. I had second
squad order the ostler and the folks in the other building to stay
inside."

"Thank you. I should have thought about that," Alucius admitted.

"If I might ask… sir."

"Oh… they're dead. All of the Talent-twisted ones."

"Talent-twisted?"

"You'll see. Talent can be used for good or evil, just like most
abilities. Those who use it for evil… it does something to them." As
he spoke, Alucius realized that, for some reason, he seemed to be
sitting higher or straighter in the saddle. He didn't recall looking
down at Faisyn quite so much. He glanced sideways at Wendra,
realizing that she was larger… all over, not by that much, but
enough so that she probably stood a half a handspan taller, yet her
garments did not seem tighter. Alucius concealed a frown. How
could that have happened? "Oh… sent Roncar to get Majer Feran
and a supply wagon. There's equipment in there, and some other
things that belong to the Guard."

"Yes, sic."

Alucius looked at Wendra, who was patting Alendra, and gently
bouncing her, clearly trying to mollify a hungry child who was
unlikely to be pacified much longer. "Where do you want to feed
her?"

"Out here. For now."

Alucius understood, He turned back to Faisyn. "Why don't you
come inside? You can see what happened." He turned in the
saddle. "Dhaget, if you and the others would stay with my wife? "

"Yes, sir." Dhaget's expression conveyed a definite impression
that he doubted Wendra needed much protection.

Alucius wondered at the reaction, because Dhaget hadn't seen
Wendra even using weapons, not that the lancer's impression was
totally wrong, but Wendra would be slower to react while breast-
feeding.

Faisyn and Alucius rode toward the Table building, trailed by a half
squad of lancers. They reined up just short of the stone walkway to
the door. The senior squad leader dismounted, following Alucius.
Alucius carried his rifle toward the entry, although his Talent
sensed no one in the building. Still, so long as the Table was
operational, other ifrits could appear.

As he neared the half-open doorway, Faisyn's mouth opened as
he saw the dead ifrit.

"That's what the Talent-twisted look like when they don't hide
behind a Talent-illusion," Alucius explained. "There are more
inside. They're dead." He opened the door and stepped over and
around the dead ifrit.

Faisyn looked at the two fallen ifrits in the foyer before his eyes
drifted to the ravaged side of the archway, and the once-molten
and since-hardened drops of stone and ceramic on the floor.

The two walked into the conference room, where the heat
continued to well out from the iron stove against the wall. Alucius
blotted his forehead again. "They like it warm."

"It is hot." Faisyn looked to the side wall behind the archway, where
Alucius's other rifle rested. "That's yours, isn't it?"

"I left it here. I didn't see any sense in lugging it back."

The squad leader's eyes dropped to the two bodies on the far side
of the conference room.

"There are five more on the stairs and in the lower room," Alucius
said.

Faisyn stopped. "Looks like you scarcely needed us, sir."

"You saw the one by the doorway. If there had been more…"
Alucius left the rest of what he might have said hanging. "We were
lucky."

Faisyn shook his head. "Sir… Colonel… I'd not be arguing with
you, but… if you'd been counting on luck, you'd have been buried
long ago." He straightened up, surveying the room, then walked to
the staircase and looked down. "Pretty big fellows… even the
woman there." He paused. "Your wife shot some, too, didn't she?"

"About half, maybe more. She's very good."

"You wouldn't have brought her if she wasn't."

"I didn't want to," Alucius admitted.

Faisyn shifted his weight from boot to boot.

"You can go outside, if you want," Alucius said. "I need to wait
here, just to make sure someone else doesn't try to sneak in
through the underground entrance down there."

"You want two of the men here?"

"Two should be enough." Alucius walked to the window and
opened it wide. Then he pulled out one of the chairs and seated
himself. "If you'd leave the front door open."

"Yes, sir."

On his way out, Faisyn dragged the one ifrit back into the foyer.

Shortly, two troopers appeared. "Sir?"

"Inhere."

Alucius recognized only one of the two, the generally hapless
Sylat. "You can sit down. We're just here waiting for Majer Feran…
and to make sure none of the Talent-twisted sneak in from down
there." He inclined his head to the stairwell.

More than a glass passed before Alucius heard the wagon drive
up. During that time, he drank almost an entire water bottle.

Alucius could sense that Wendra accompanied Feran. He stood
as his wife and the majer entered the room. "Sylat… you two can
report back to your squad leader."

"Yes, sir."

The two lancers inclined their heads to Feran and slipped out.

Feran waited until the three of them stood alone. He studied
Alucius. "It's still you, isn't it?"

"Same man who played leschec with you in Emal, when you
complained that you didn't see why you bothered," Alucius said
dryly. "Same officer who watched you go off griping about
protecting an oilseed works… owned, as we later found out, by
Yusalt's esteemed father."

Feran nodded. "You're different. The same, but different."

"Come on down the stairs. You'll see why."

Feran looked at the dead ifrits more closely. "Those… what are
they? I've never see people like that."

Alucius caught the amused smile that flitted across Wendra's face.
"That's what someone truly twisted and possessed by Talent looks
like. The one second from the end was Tarolt. He just projected an
illusion when he met people. That was probably why he didn't meet
that many people. It took too much effort. There are five more
down below." Alucius led the way. Feran followed, and Wendra
came last, patting Alendra with one hand, her rifle in the other.

Once in the lower room, Feran gestured toward the black lorken-
framed oblong. "Is that one of those Tables?"

"Yes. Tarolt built one here. That's how he knew where people
were."

"Can you use it?"

"Probably," Alucius said, "but using it for long turns people into…
those."

An expression of distaste crossed Feran's face. "The more I find
out about Talent… the less I like what I discover."

"Talent's like any other form of ability. It's easy to misuse, and the
results are ugly when it is."

Feran gestured toward the body of the largest ifrit. "Never seen
anyone that big before. You think he was someone important?"

Alucius looked at the dead ifrit. "He was the most powerful one. I
don't suppose we'll ever know who he was." After a moment, he
walked over to the five chests set in front of the Table. He opened
each of the lids in turn, revealing the contents.

Feran surveyed them. "There must be thousands of golds…"

"Close to ten thousand, I'd guess," Alucius said.

"They had that much… and they let… the Council… ?"

"Some of it they got later, I think, but they never would have let the
Council know."

Feran's lips tightened. "They make hogshit smell sweet."

Alucius nodded.

"What do you plan to do with the golds?"

"I'd like to buy back our independence, but it's too late for that.
We'll send a third of it to the Lord-Protector and we'll keep the rest
to pay for moving the Northern Guard to Iron Stem—and for
equipment and supplies. We'll be honest. We'll tell the Lord-
Protector. He'll be happy to get three thousand golds. He's already
agreed to the move, and now it won't cost him."

"You don't think he'll want more?" asked Feran, skepticism evident
in every word.

"After what we've done? I don't think so." Alucius laughed.
"Besides, who would he send to collect it?"

In turn, Feran laughed. Wendra smiled.

The silence drew out.

"You're not finished, are you?" Feran said slowly.

"No."

"I didn't think so. You have that… air."

"I'm going to ask you for yet another indulgence and favor," Alucius
said. "I'll need a guard posted around the building. They're to stop
anyone from leaving until Wendra and I return."

"Where are you going? How long?"

Alucius gestured to the Table. "They can be used for travel. With
Talent. There are two more of these." He gestured to the dead
ifrits. "And a number more of those Talent-twisted."

"And I suppose you two need to save Corus from them?"

Alucius forced a laugh. "Something like that." He paused. "Do you
want another bunch like the prophet's lancers or the Matrial's
torques?"

"These… did that?"

Alucius nodded. "And more. They brought those pteridons and
skylances we fought in Deforya." Alucius didn't mention that they'd
brought them millennia earlier. They had brought them, and it didn't
matter when.

Feran was the one to laugh. "If it were anyone but you, anyone at
all…"

"Thank you."

"When are you leaving? How long will you be gone?"

"As soon as we can. We won't leave until we eat, and until the
lancers have dragged out the bodies, and until you're ready to take
the golds back and lock them up. I think it would be better to get
some oil and burn the bodies."

"So do I. But I'd like all the squad leaders to see them."

Alucius nodded. "Post sentries outside. Don't let anyone out but
Wendra or me."

"They couldn't create an illusion like you?"

"It wouldn't be very good. Any of them who knew me are dead. I
don't think any of them even know about Wendra. Not yet."

"It's been quite a month, Colonel. Quite a month."

Not nearly so much of a month as it would be, reflected
Alucius—one way or another.
Chapter 154

Just after late midmorning in Salaan, Alucius and Wendra stood
between the archway to the stairs and the Table. Each had one of
the heavy scepters recovered from the ifrits, but each scepter was
strapped to an empty sabre scabbard, secured with a tie around
the leg just above the knee. The power of each scepter, black and
silver, seemed to cast light and shadows, but light and shadows
seen only with Talent.

"You think the scepters will show us where the master scepter is?"
asked Wendra. "The one the soarer told us to find?"

"I don't know, but if it's a master scepter, it has to be stronger than
these, and we could sense these halfway across Corus, once we
knew what we were looking for."

"If it's not in a case, or shielded," Wendra pointed out.

"We'll have to risk that."

"Risk what?" asked Feran, coming down the steps from the
conference room.

"Not being able to do what we have to," Alucius replied.

"You look… armed." Feran's eyes went to the scepters. "Those…
they don't feel right."

"They aren't. That's why we need to return them."

"You're not going to explain more, are you?"

"It's better that we don't."

Feran raised his eyebrows, but didn't reply.

In addition to a scepter, Alucius and Wendra each carried a
herder's rifle. All the cartridges they carried had been heavily
infused with life-force. Alucius had strapped a cartridge belt over
his nightsilk herders' vest. He had decided against wearing the
heavy riding jacket, based on the heat in the Table building and the
soarer's statements that the ifrits' world was far warmer than Corus.
Both he and Wendra carried water bottles as well as travel food
within their garments, and Wendra had folded extra cloth and
clothing for Alendra around and inside her jacket and tunic.

Feran stepped to one side. "All you want is a guard around the
building?"

"That's right. Not in here."

"How long will you be gone?"

Alucius shrugged. "I don't know. A day, a week… If we're not back
in a month, then you'll have to worry about the… Talent-twisted
ones yourself." He'd almost said ifrits, but the word would have
meant little to Feran. "Their clothes are like nightsilk, except
stronger. Head shots are best. Right now, I don't think there are
any left west of the Spine of Corus. There are two Tables in
Lustrea, and an old Table in the ruins of Blackstear, not that there's
any way for the Northern Guard to reach any of them."

"What do we do here, if you… ?" Feran didn't finish the statement.

Alucius understood. "Use enough powder to fragment the entire
building and drop it around the Table. Explosives won't destroy the
Table, but rock piled deep on top of it will keep it from being used."

"Hope it doesn't come to that," Feran replied.

"So do we."

Wendra offered a tight nod of agreement. Within the carrypack,
Alendra waved a small fist.

Alucius jumped onto to the Table, then offered a hand to Wendra.
She took it, and they stood side by side on the Table. Alucius
nodded to Feran, then concentrated on the darkness of the
translation tube beneath them. He and Wendra began to sink into
the Table.

The purpled blackness of the ifrit tube was every bit as chill as
Alucius had recalled, a bone-biting cold that combined with a
sense of foreboding. He focused on the deep and long
purpleness that stretched endlessly into a faraway depth lost
beyond the reach of his thoughts. He pushed away the idea that,
once they pursued that purple tube, they would never return, and
concentrated on reaching whatever lay in the distance, a distance
that the soarers had suggested was farther away than some stars.
In the chill of the purple tube, he sensed warmth—Wendra and
Alendra—streaming with him.

The chill blackness of the tube walls contracted, then twisted, and
even though Alucius knew that his body could not move, he felt as
though he were being pummeled by the sides of the tube, as
though the very walls had projections that reached out and struck
him, buffeted him, twisted and turned him. With each timeless
instant, the chill that permeated him grew deeper, crept further
inside him, slowed his thoughts. Yet he concentrated on that
distant purpleness, a landmark, much as the Aerial Plateau had
once been for a herder youth.

Time passed in the timelessness of the translation tube, instants,
years, both, neither… time unmeasurable by sluggish thoughts.
Alucius clung to the goal, and to Wendra's warmth and presence,
as he knew she clung to him and to Alendra.

More time passed, and the intolerable chill of the tube and the
purple blackness that surrounded the herders warmed slightly, and
the purpleness became brighter. In the near distance, Alucius
began to sense Table arrows, not just the handful of those on
Corns, but a comparative plethora, as many as fifty.

They had decided that they would simply try to get as close as they
could to whatever resembled the scepter and showed great power,
probably purple pink power. Except… Alucius couldn't sense
anything like that. For all of the Table arrows, there were none of
great intensity, none even as strong as the golden green portals of
the soarers had been. All the Table arrows were faint—and none
were of purple or pink. Yet all were close, and there seemed to be
no way to tell which of them might be close to the master scepter.

Feeling the chill again creeping into his bones, Alucius pressed
toward the purple gold arrow, trying to convey that sense to
Wendra. As his thoughts carried him toward that near yet faint
arrow, he could sense Wendra's presence moving beside him.

A thin shimmering veil of silvered purple rose before them. Alucius
formed a spear of lifeforce, enfolding him—and Wendra and
Alendra.

The thin purple silver barrier shattered…
Chapter 155
Norda, Lustrea

Waleryn frowned, then hurried down the stone steps to the Table.
Behind him came two ifrits in their shimmering green and maroon
garments, each a good head taller than the shadow-engineer.

The former Lanachronan lord and heir stepped up to the Table,
ignoring the ifrits, his brow furrowed in concentration. The ruby
mists replaced the mirrored surface, revealing the empty Table
chamber in Prosp. Waleryn nodded. A second image replaced the
first, and that was the Table chamber in Salaan—also empty.

For several moments, the shadow-engineer just stood before the
Table. Finally, a long tube appeared, projected into the space
above the Table. Each end of the tube connected to webs of
purpled darkness, although the web at one end consisted of but
five branches.

Waleryn studied the web of purpled darkness projected above the
Table, his eyes fixing on a point on the tubular segment glowing a
luminescent shade that appeared black, gold, and green, in turn,
and yet none of those colors precisely.

"Is something wrong?" asked the young muscular ifrit who stood at
the former lord's left shoulder.

"Someone's making a translation. They're using energies I haven't
seen."

"Isn't that good?"

"They're translating back to Efra. It has to be the lamaial. I warned
Trezun and Lasylt. The fieldmaster said everything was under
control."

"Can't you stop them? You have to."

Waleryn shook his head. "I'd have to depower the entire grid, and
we don't have the master scepter here. The only way to do that is
Table by Table. No one can do that in time. And if we did…" He
looked at the ifrit.

"We'd all die, is that it?"

Waleryn nodded. "So would Efra… or all Efrans, because there
isn't enough lifeforce to repower the long translation tube, and the
master scepter hasn't been moved. The lamaial or the ancient
ones might even be wagering that we would depower the tube,
thinking that we would not know what would happen."

"They wouldn't do that."

"How do you know that?" countered Waleryn. "In their day, they
were far more ruthless than we are. They sacrificed most of their
people—and thousands of the Talent-steers—to sever the great
translation tubes."

"You're not supposed to know that."

"About history? Or about the master scepter and the power
requirements? Or as a mere shadow-Efran, you mean?" Waleryn
snorted. "It's obvious from studying the flows of lifeforce."

"You have to do something," insisted the other ifrit.

"Tell me what," suggested Waleryn. "Does one of you want to try a
reverse translation?"

The two offered no reply.

Waleryn released the projected image and stepped back from the
Table. "The fieldmasters on Efra will have to stop him. If they can."

"You doubt that they can?"

"It will not be easy. He must have the scepters. Otherwise, why
would he attempt the translation?"

The two ifrits exchanged glances, but did not speak.
Chapter 156

Purpled silver flowed away from Wendra and Alucius like mist
and…

… where they stood, the air was warm and humid. Frost boiled
away from both Alucius and Wendra. Around them was a Table
room, but one unlike any Alucius had seen. The walls were not just
blank expanses of polished stone, but works of art, with carved
friezes illuminated from within the stone and illustrated so well that
the images seemed caught in midstep, or in midaction. Above the
friezes were wall murals, similarly colored, running all the way
around the chamber.

Seeing two figures through the mist dissipating from around them,
Alucius brought up his rifle. A bored-looking ifrit with silver blond
hair turned, and his mouth dropped open. Agonizingly slowly, his
hand fumbled for the light-cutter hand weapon holstered at his belt.

Crack! Alucius's single shot struck the ifrit in the chest, exploding
through the man.

Alucius turned, but the second ifrit, also blond, who had begun to
run toward the archway opening onto a set of steps, went down
from a single shot from Wendra.

The two herders looked at each other.

Alucius gaped, for the Wendra who viewed him was not the
Wendra with whom he had stepped into the portal. Nor was the
child in the carrypack the same Alendra. Wendra was more
angular; her brown hair had turned black, and her eyes had gone
from gold-flecked green to violet flecked with green. She looked
more like the Matrial than she did like his wife. Yet… her lifethread
was the same brilliant green.

"You look like an ifrit."

"So do you," she replied. "Your hair is black."

"Yours, too." He paused.

"The soarer," Wendra began, "she said something about a world
affecting someone who translated."

"We'll have to worry about that later. I just hope we look normal
when we get back." If we get back. Alucius scanned the Table
room once more, a chamber that looked more like the Landarch's
palace than what he thought of as a Table chamber. His eyes
skipped over the friezes and the murals, which depicted ships
such as those he'd seen in the murals in Dereka years before, and
pteridons, and sandoxes—but the colors and proportions were
different—and all the ifrits had blond hair, not black.

He looked sideways, taking in the light-torches on the wall. Then he
scrambled off the Table.

"The one in the other corner," Wendra suggested.

Alucius hurried toward the torch she had suggested, using a twist
of greenish lifeforce to break the Talent-lock, before he turned the
bracket. Absently, he noted that he didn't seem to have to reach up
as far. Were the brackets lower?

The stone doorway slid open. Alucius sensed no one inside.

"I'll cover it." Wendra dropped off the Table and moved toward the
open doorway, turning so she could cover the room, the archway,
and the staircase beyond.

Alucius hurried into the passageway, so like those on Corus,
finding a chamber at the end of the corridor. He rifled through the
chest against one wall, but found nothing resembling a map or
anything else. Nor was there anything in the drawer of the table
desk that resembled a map. The papers he did see were covered
with angular and incomprehensible writing. Alucius left the rack of
light-cutting pistols untouched as he hurried out.

He had sensed nothing of power, nothing similar to a scepter.
"There's nothing here. The soarers said that they had to be close
to lines of power."

"Then let's try another Table," Wendra said.

"There are fifty."

"If it takes fifty, it takes fifty," she snapped, moving back toward the
Table. "We'll try the one that's closest and strongest."

Alucius had to hurry to catch up with her, bringing his rifle into the
ready position as he took his position beside her on the Table.

Again they dropped into the purple-chill blackness.

The chill was colder than that mistiness of the Corean ley lines, but
warmer than the purple chill of the long translation tube. Wendra
moved toward a bright blue Table arrow, bright, yet somehow
faded. Behind them the purple gold Table arrow flickered… and
vanished. Alucius would have frowned if he could have.

Ahead in the darkness was the bright blue arrow, with yet another
purpled silver barrier that dissolved away from them as they burst
through.

The mist that swirled away from the two herders was much fainter
at the second ifrit Table, and Alucius had to take a half step to hold
his balance.

The single ifrit guard was faster than the first, but still only had the
light-cutting pistol halfway up when the heavy cartridge tore through
him, exploding a quarter of his upper torso and shoulder away from
his body.

A second ifrit jerked out of the normally hidden but now open
doorway. Before she could move, Wendra's rifle barked
once—with results as devastating as those from Alucius's shot.

Alucius could sense no one else in the chamber, although there
were ifrits in the rooms up and beyond the staircase. He pointed as
he scrambled off the Table. Wendra nodded, but remained
standing on the ancient Table—set amid more murals and carvings
of graceful and exquisite beauty, beauty that Alucius had no time to
take in and even less to admire.

Rifle ready, he scrambled into the chamber at the end of the
passageway. The layout was reversed from the first chamber, but
with the same furnishings and weapons racks as in the previous
chamber. He'd finished a furiously quick search of the chest and
was just flicking through the few papers in the table desk drawer
when he heard the report of Wendra's rifle. He forced himself to
finish the search—which revealed no maps and no Talent-signs of
a scepter or anything like it. Then he was hurrying back to the
Table.

Another ifrit's body filled the stairwell, downed by Wendra.

"Did you find anything?" asked Wendra.

"No."

"Hurry. There are more of them coming down the stairs."

Alucius vaulted back onto the Table. He brought the rifle into a near
firing position, even as he began to concentrate on entering the ifrit
tubes once more.

Chill washed around them, a chill that was welcome after the
steamy heat of two Table rooms and the hot frustration of having
found nothing. Wendra guided them toward a chartreuse Table
arrow. Behind them, Alucius could sense the bright blue arrow
fading, seemingly shriveling away. The gold and purple arrow had
not reappeared, either.

Again, they reached a purple-tinged silvery barrier, seemingly more
transparent than those they had encountered previously. Beyond
the silver, Alucius could see a pair of ifrits, each beside the
archway that presumably led to a staircase. Then… the silver
streamed away from the two herders seeking a scepter…

The ifrit who had been looking toward the Table grabbed for her
light-cutter.

Crack! Wendra was faster than either Alucius or the ifrit, and the
single bullet exploded through the guard's torso.

The second guard's hand didn't quite reach his weapon before
Alucius's single shot took him down.

Alucius vaulted off the Table and hurried toward the light-torch
bracket to his left. Behind him, he heard a faint wailing from
Alendra. Either his feelings were correct, or he was lucky, because
he could sense the Talent-lock even before he started to turn the
bracket. The lock dissolved, and the hidden door slid smoothly
open. As before, there was no one inside.

Also as before, there was no sign of a scepter, nor were there any
papers or maps that might have led them to the master scepter
emphasized by the soarer just before she died. Alucius hurried
back to the Table and scrambled back up beside Wendra, who
remained with her rifle trained on the archway.

"Reload while I catch my breath," Alucius suggested. "We need a
better approach." Sensing even greater warmth from his right side,
he glanced down. The heavy scepter strapped to his empty
scabbard was glowing a faint pinkish purple and radiating heat. Yet
he could sense nothing like a scepter. He looked toward Wendra.
Her scepter was doing the same.

"We're safe just so long as we keep ahead of them," Wendra
pointed out as she slipped cartridges from her belt into the
magazine.

"We can't go through all fifty Tables," Alucius protested. "Not
without resting somewhere along the way. And we don't have
enough ammunition for that. We don't have enough Talent-strength
to fight that way, either."

As Wendra raised her rifle, he took a moment to reload his own
weapon.

"Both scepters are glowing," Alucius said.

"I think they've begun to glow a little more with each Table we've
visited. Do you think they're picking up energy from them?"

"That could be. We'll have to watch and see."

"Did you notice that there are only five really bright Table arrow
markers?" asked Wendra.

"No," Alucius admitted. "But the two Tables we visited first…
they're gone."

"It could be the scepters. Or it could be that the soarer was right,"
Wendra said. "'The links are fading. That's why the guards. They
don't want them used."

"Or both," suggested Alucius. "You think that one of the brighter
markers holds the scepter."

"It has to," Wendra said.

"You keep picking where we're headed. Can you do some more?"

"I have to. We can't stop now," she pointed out. "We do, and they'll
have guards everywhere. Through the Tables, we can move faster
than they can."

"As long as we can keep it up."

"We have to." Wendra looked at him. "Are you ready?"

Alucius nodded, lifting his rifle and ignoring the sweat beading on
his forehead.

The almost-welcome chill settled over them as they dropped
through the surface of the Table and back into the purple darkness
of the ifrit tube. Alarim could sense the brighter markers that
Wendra had mentioned and let her guide them toward the
nearest—one of pinkish silver.

Behind them, the chartreuse Table arrow collapsed in upon itself,
shriveling away into nothingness. Neither the bright blue arrow nor
the gold and purple one had reappeared. Was their transit
disrupting or shutting down those Tables, or was it because they
carried the scepters?

Through the next purple-tinged silvery barrier, Alucius could
see/sense a single ifrit, not even looking toward the Table. As they
flashed through the thin barrier, silver billowed like mist before
them, vanishing almost instantly…

The single blond ifrit looked at the pair on the Table, his mouth
opening ever wider, as if he could not believe what he saw.

Alucius fired, almost hating to do so. He was off the Table before
the figure sprawled across the mosaic floor, a flowing design of
interlocking geometric forms so beautiful that, for an instant,
Alucius just stared, before he jerked himself back into action,
moving toward the light-torch bracket whose hidden energy
outlined it as if by a sign posted below it on the stone wall, a wall
covered with the brilliant murals showing graceful blond ifrits in
peaceful settings.

Alucius turned the bracket, his rifle ready as the doorway slid open.

An ifrit bolted upright.

Alucius fired, and she fell, half her upper body blown away.
Relieved that his Talent showed no one else in the hidden
chambers, Alucius swallowed the bile that threatened to erupt into
his throat and charged into the end chamber.

His search was as fruitless as the first three had been, and, as he
hurried back to the Table, he could feel the scepter growing
warmer and exuding more of the purple lifeforce-related energy.

Without a word, he vaulted onto the Table.

He and Wendra dropped into the darkness below…

… and found that more than half the Table markers had vanished.
Why?

Because the ifrits knew that they were using the Tables? Or
because they had disrupted the links so badly that some twenty
Tables no longer functioned?

Wendra moved through the chill darkness, a golden green beacon
blazing in the dark, moving toward a crimson arrow marker. Alucius
had to force himself to keep pace… even as she shattered the
silvery harrier…
Chapter 157
Norda, Lustrea

Waleryn scanned the image appearing in the Table's mirror. The
Table chamber in Salaan remained empty. He concentrated. The
next image was that of the conference room above, where he
watched for a time, but neither of the goblets on the Table moved.

"There's no one there," offered the ifrit by his shoulder.

"The Tables won't show the lamaial or us, unless we're actually
using the Table," Waleryn replied, "but they will show the motion of
non-Talent-objects once they're no longer touched. No one has
moved anything."

Another image appeared—that of the Table chamber in
Blackstear—followed by the audience chamber of the Lord-
Protector, and by others in rapid succession. Waleryn finally let the
Table blank for a time and blotted his forehead. "There's no sign of
anyone… not anywhere… except Tyren. They've vanished."

"Or they're immobilized or dead," suggested the third ifrit.

"Lasylt? How could any mere Talent-steer have killed him?"

"Whatever happened," snapped Waleryn, "he isn't making his
presence known." He took a deep breath, calling up the image of
the full translation tube web. No sooner had the replica image
appeared above the Table than a purple section of the more
heavily webbed section at one end of the translation tube
faded—and then vanished.

"Three are already gone," said one of the ifrits at his shoulder.
"How can he… ?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's shredding the Efran Table grid," snapped Waleryn.

"Can't you message the fieldmasters?"

"I'm trying, but the lamaial has created so much interference that…
I'm not getting through, or he's blocking us."

"Why is he doing it?"

"He hasn't been able to find the master scepter, but somehow the
resonances from the scepters he has to be carrying are weakening
the transport links."

"No one can carry two scepters," protested the closer ifrit.

"Tell that to him." Waleryn snorted. "I knew he was dangerous. I
told Trezun. But no, no mere Talent-steer could be that threatening.
No simple herder-mercenary could pose that much of a threat to
Efra."

The three watched the image above the Table.

Another section of the grid shriveled and vanished.
Chapter 158

The table onto which Alucius and Wendra emerged was twice as
large as any that they had seen before, its square top a good four
yards by four. Nor was there any billowing of mist or splashed
silver. Alucius looked for stone walls and light-torch brackets.
There were neither.

The Table stood in the center—or the base—of a chamber that
was a small amphitheater, rising up a yard above the surrounding
stone floor, in the center of an oval area a good thirty yards across,
enclosed by a yard-high wall of green eternastone. The arched
pink marble ceiling was a hundred yards above Alucius's head, and
lights of all colors played over it. Somewhere, musicians played, a
melody that was stirring, soothing, and sensual, all at the same
time.

Beyond the first wall rose dais upon dais of green eternastone, and
upon each dais stood the blond ifrits, all in different garb—some
bearing weapons and some empty-handed. Alucius realized,
almost instantly, the "ifrits" were incredibly lifelike statues—except
for the four pairs of guards stationed equidistantly around the
lowest dais.

"There!" said Wendra.

Alucius turned, still holding his rifle ready, to see halfway up the
daises in the middle of the long side of the oval an enormous
scepter, shimmering purple, with light playing across it.

He could sense no power, and no response from the scepter he
carried.

"It's false. It's not a real scepter."

Alucius caught sight of movement and whirled.

Two of the tall blond ifrit guards aimed their light-cutters toward
Alucius and Wendra. An instant before the beams of the light-
cutters slashed toward them, Alucius flung up a shield of greenish
black.

When the light-knife beams splattered away from the shield,
Alucius was more surprised than the openmouthed guards.

"There's no scepter here! We'll try the next Table," Wendra said.

"Let's go."

Light flashed around them as they dropped back into the darkness
beneath the Table.

The chill was greater, more oppressive, and Alucius could sense
no Table arrow markers at all. None. Had all the Tables been
deactivated? How could the tubes remain? Except they had to be
ifrit world ley lines, and the master scepter had to lie along them…
somewhere.

In the chill darkness, Wendra blazed even more brightly, a figure of
green and gold, and Alucius could also sense the purple pink
brilliance of the scepters they carried.

Ahead, or so it seemed, was a pinkish purpleness, not an arrow,
not a marker, but something more like a portal, like the portal
created by the scepter they had sought on Corns. Alucius would
have laughed had he been able. The ifrits, believing that he and
Wendra could travel only from Table to Table, had shut off the
Tables, and that had revealed the location of the master scepter.
Yet… would there be guards waiting there? How many? With what
kinds of weapons?

Alucius forced himself to move faster to sweep in beside Wendra.

The darkness was deceptive, for they seemed to move so slowly.

Was the scepter like the portals of the soarers, outside the ley
lines?

Alucius reached beyond the webs of darkness, somehow off to the
side, and the portal blazed brighter. Wendra… had she tried to
pulse an inquiry? Alucius reached once more, and he could sense
Wendra reaching with him.

With that effort, Alucius and Wendra surged toward the purple pink
portal, so quickly that they were through whatever barrier that might
have existed even before they were aware of any such
membranes separating the world lifeforce lines and the world
above.

Waves of pulsing purple light flashed over them, light so bright that
Alucius could see nothing.

Alendra shrieked, a thin cry lost in the silent light that was,
impossibly, louder than thunder, a light that seemed to paralyze all
thought, blind all vision.

Alucius cast out a dark Talent-probe, sending it forth almost as a
shade against the source of the light. That Talent-shade dimmed
the intensity enough that he could see, through eyes streaming
tears, and only perceiving blurry objects at first, that they were in an
empty chamber—empty except for a silver scepter three times the
size of those they carried, set in a framework of silver bars that
descended through the solid stone floor into the depths of the
earth below. Above the scepter was a massive spinning purplish
crystal, easily a dozen times the size of the one that had powered
the Matrial's torques.

Alendras cries continued, but Wendra and Alucius exchanged a
quick glance.

"Someone's coming," she said. "How… what… do we do?"

"What did the soarer say? Reunite the scepters… wasn't that it?"
As he spoke, Alucius set down his rifle, reached down with both
hands, and began to undo the clips that held the scepter to the
scabbard.

When he had loosened the first clip, the silver scepter snapped
the second clip and surged toward the master scepter. All of
Alucius's strength was barely sufficient to hold it. "Wendra. Drop
your rifle and get rid of the scepter. Quick!"

Wendra did not even look at Alucius as she bent and released the
first clip. The second snapped.

A roaring filled the chamber, and the intensity of the light began to
multiply once more.

Alucius glanced at his wife, his vision blurring under the searing
brilliance. The metal of the scepter was bending, yet she was
holding it. He glanced down. He was also holding a scepter that
was bending, the metal elongating as the crystal surged and
struggled toward the master crystal.

"On three," Alucius yelled. "Release it, and grab hands, and drop…
all the way back to Corus. One! Two! Three!"

He released his scepter, and his fingers closed around Wendra's
wrist, even as he tried simultaneously to cast up a green black
shield and struggled to reach the darkness of the ley lines beneath
the chamber.

A splintering impact rocked the chamber, and Alucius and Wendra
were flung backward against the wall. Splinters of stone, of crystal,
flew past and around them. Alucius could feel his shield crumpling
as he/she/ they forced their way into the blackness beneath the
stone, a blackness beneath the stone chamber.

The blackness was neither totally dark nor chill. Lines of purple
pink flared past them and around them, with waves of heat that
alternated with a deeper chill. Alucius felt blistered and frozen by
those waves, buffeted one way, then another.

Wendra turned, seeking the long translation tube.

Alucius followed, as much tracking the cold and sensing the tube
as knowing where he and Wendra were headed. Behind them
rippled waves of pink and purple. The scepter portal flared
brighter, then fragmented into pink sections that disintegrated into
smaller sections, and ifrit ley line after ley line began to shrivel.

As if sensing the urgency, Wendra began to press, her thoughts
pulling her, Alendra, and Alucius toward a darker, stronger, greener
blackness at the end of the purple tube that they traveled, a tube
that seemed to be cracking, letting in even deeper cold, and
disintegrating behind and around them. The foreboding he had felt
on the out-translation was stronger, the chill ever deeper, and
Alucius focused on reaching the Corean end of the deep and long
purpleness that stretched eternally beyond the reach of his Talent,
a star-great distance that he knew they could cross, that they must
cross. As in the outward journey, he sensed the warmth of Wendra
and Alendra—joining in that combined strength against the star-
deep chill as the tube walls, even as they began to
separate—began to split—contracted, twisted, pulled, and pushed
at the three of them.

Instants, years, seasons, moments—measurements of
time—meant little except that they passed so slowly, yet instantly,
in the timelessness of the translation tube. As the timeless instants
stretched out, Alucius focused his being on the stead, on the
timelessness and the openness, and upon the Corns that could
be, that would be…

A huge convulsion ran through the tube, and Alucius felt that he
and Wendra had been tumbled, head over heels, even though they
had moved not at all, and he reached out, seeking the heavier,
stronger ley lines of Corus…

… and found them as they dropped into a greenish black chill that
was steadier, and merely uncomfortable, a ley line that was of
Corus. For all of that, there were no Table arrow markers, no portal
markers, just the long darkness.

Alucius concentrated, thinking about the "memories" of portals,
and a faint image appeared, the faintest hint of maroon and green.
He seized on that, and they sped toward that faint indication. As
they traveled, Alucius began to sense what lay beyond the ley
lines, above and beyond, a sensing he had never had before—the
land, the River Vedra to the north, and the Plateau farther to the
northeast. Had the ifrits' tubes blocked those senses?

Then… they neared what had once been a Table, now only a block
of stone framed in wood… and they stepped out of the blackness,
without even a barrier barring the way…
Chapter 159
Norda, Lustrea

Waleryn slowly picked himself up, looking around the unfamiliar
room, a room he knew he had never seen and yet knew. A pair of
light-torches illuminated the stone-walled underground chamber,
but while the room was similar to the Table room in Tempre, it was
not the same room. There was something that looked like a Table,
but the surface was dull black stone.

He looked down. An angular tall figure, not quite like a man, lay
beside the wall. As he watched, the figure and its garments
shimmered, then dissolved into dust. After a moment, the dust
vanished as well.

"Engineer, sir?"

Waleryn turned.

A man in the uniform of a Praetorian Guard stood in the doorway, a
doorway that showed a staircase behind it. "Sir? The whole
building was shaking. Are you all right?"

"I'm a little confused. Where am I?"

"In Norda, sir. Where else would you be? You and the Praetor
ordered us here."

Waleryn nodded slowly, but his expression was not one of
comprehension, and his eyes did not meet those of the guard.
Chapter 160

Alucius and Wendra stood at the end of the Table chamber in
Salaan. Alucius turned and looked at her, but she was the Wendra
of Corus, with brown hair and golden eyes flecked with green, with
the same generous mouth. And yet… she was more, with a
presence that radiated power and a lifethread that was both a more
brilliant green and yet darker, more somber. He found her looking
at him, equally intently.

"We're us," he said.

"Mostly. You look… more powerful… dangerous."

"So do you."

"I don't know if I like that," Wendra said.

"It's who you are, who you were meant to be."

Wendra cocked her head for a moment, thinking. Then her eyes
fixed on the dark block of stone, framed in lorken, that had once
been a Table. Now it was only dark stone surrounding shattered
and vanished crystal. Whatever crystalline structures had once
powered it were gone, gone with the ifrit transport tubes.

"They're gone," Wendra said. "All of them."

"But there are light-torches." Alucius walked to the light-torch
bracket and turned it. The hidden door opened. He turned it again,
and it closed.

"Whatever was truly made here, that will remain. The soarers had
light-torches. Maybe the ifrits took that from them, rather than the
other way around." Wendra's nose wrinkled. "All this has taken a
toll on our little friend here. Let's go upstairs and see if we can find
some water."

Alucius could only hope that there were no surprises waiting, or
none that couldn't be handled by Talent, because both rifles were
somewhere on the ifrit world, and his scabbard was empty. Still, as
he stepped toward the doorway to the stairs, he could sense no
one.

He made his way up the steps carefully, but the main level was
deserted.

"I said that no one was here," Wendra offered with a smile.

"I thought that was so, but… these days, you never know." From
the outside light, Alucius thought the time of day was late
afternoon, but while it could have been the same afternoon as the
day they left, the light felt different, as though it were not. Given his
instructions to Feran, it had to have been less than a month.

He nodded and kept looking.

There was a washroom in the rear, and before long, Alendra was
cleaner… and hungry.

Sitting in one of the chairs in the conference room, Wendra began
to feed their daughter.

Alucius walked over to the iron stove set against the wall. The
metal was cold. In fact, the room was cool, almost chill, and with
the heat that had filled the structure before they had left, the
coolness was another indication that more than a few glasses had
passed, that at least a day had gone by. Alucius doubted that it had
been only a day.

He took out his water bottle and offered it to Wendra. After she
drank, he finished it, then fished out a package of travel bread and
hard cheese. He alternated between eating some and feeding
Wendra as Alendra nursed.

"Our rifles… the bullets," Wendra said slowly. "They didn't act like
that even against the dark sanders or the wild translations."

"No. They didn't do that to Tarolt or the ifrits here. It must be the
lifeforce. The ifrit world was dying—"

"And we used the lifeforce from Corus," Wendra said. "But why
didn't it work that way here?"

"I'm just guessing," Alucius replied, "but the ifrits who came here
were drawing on the lifeforce of Corus through the Tables, not that
of their own world. All their lifethreads were tied to the Tables, and
their tubes were linked to the ley lines. So they were drawing
lifeforce all the time."

"They would have bled Corus dry." She paused. "But… how could
they think a mere handful could—"

"They did once before," Alucius pointed out, "and against
seemingly greater opposition."

"But the arrogance…" Wendra paled. "How did you feel against
those poor ifrits in the Table rooms? Strong? Almost invincible?"

"Linking to power, the ley lines? Does it do that to everyone? Is
that another temptation we face? Is that what you mean?"

She nodded slowly. "They had so much… and it wasn't enough.
There was so much beauty there, in just those few rooms. If we
had seen their world…"

"They created beauty here, too, before," Alucius pointed out. "That
kind of beauty has a high price. Like the Matrial's order and
beauty."

"We'll have to make sure we don't do that."

"Avoid that sort of temptation," Alucius added. Yet that would be
bittersweet, he knew, because he had been moved by those brief
glimpses of surpassing beauty.

Wendra eased Alendra to her shoulder, patting her back. "We'll
have to be very careful with Alendra. She won't have seen and felt
what we have."

Alucius wasn't so sure that he wouldn't have to be careful with
himself first. Another thought occurred to him. "I need to visit the
Lord-Protector. It won't take long."

"You've said that before." But she smiled.

"It's not to another world," he countered, returning her smile with
one of his own. "Besides, you're still guarded. I can feel the
lancers out there."

"If you won't be long…"

"I don't think so. Not this time."

She nodded. "Be careful."

"I will."

Alucius walked down the steps to the chamber that held what had
once been a Table. He suspected he could have contacted the ley
lines with his Talent from the upper level, but it was easier on the
lower level.

Almost immediately, he was in the misty greenish blackness,
searching for the trace of the blue that had once been a Table in
Tempre. At the same time, he was seeking other landmarks,
knowing that in time, the portal/ Table traces would vanish as the
ley lines healed from the imposition of the ifrit tubes.

The blue shadow was located where three lines came together
south of the flow of life that was the River Vedra—and Alucius
could sense all three. Extending himself on a Talent-line from the
ley line, he drifted shadowlike from the Table room to the private
chamber off the audience hall—empty—to the Lord-Protector's
private apartments. Through the green silver veil, he located
himself in the foyer and stepped through the misty veil.

His boots hit hard on the polished floor. Alucius smiled. He'd been
a third of a yard above the tiles, and that was something he'd have
to watch in the future. He stepped to the foyer archway, where he
looked into the sitting room.

The Lord-Protector sat in one of the chairs, facing Alerya. Her eyes
widened at Alucius's appearance.

"Talryn…"

The Lord-Protector turned and rose, his eyes widening as well at
the appearance of the young colonel in his private chamber.
"Colonel… this… it's…"

"Rather irregular. Yes, it is." Alucius smiled. "You'll pardon me if I'm
quick and cryptic."

"I thought you were… in Dekhron."

"I was, and I'll be returning there after we talk. The Northern Guard
had a few more problems than we'd thought. The Regent of the
Matrial had some hidden allies there. I wrote you about them
before I knew they were working for the Regent. Among them were
those traders who were overcharging the Guard and pocketing the
golds. They were also promoting incompetent officers and trying to
undermine the Guard's ability to hold the north. I ended up having
to go to Hieron to take care of the problem at the source. The
torques no longer work. This time, they won't be repowered. You
should start to receive reports of greater success from Madrien in
the weeks ahead, if you haven't already. And… one other thing…
there are no functioning Tables left in Corus. There won't be any
more, either."

A faint smile crossed Alerya's lips, but she said nothing.

"We've also recovered a fair sum of golds from those traders,"
Alucius continued, "and about a third of those are on their way
here. The others we'll be using to move the Northern Guard to Iron
Stem. That will solve several problems at once."

"Ah… Your methods have always been…"

"Controversial, but effective. That's true. After I return to Dekhron,
you will be receiving my letter of resignation from the Northern
Guard, and my recommendation for my successor. Unless matters
have changed since I left Dekhron, it will be Majer Feran."

The Lord-Protector frowned. "He's only been the deputy for less
than a season."

"I'd greatly appreciate that favor, Lord-Protector. Majer Feran can
always call on me for advice." Alucius paused. "Besides, all your
colonels and marshals will be much happier dealing with Feran.
He's had a more… traditional background. He also believes it's
time to move the Guard headquarters to Iron Stem."

Talryn spread his arms and provided a helpless shrug. "It seems
as though I have no choice, Colonel."

"You have choices. They wouldn't be as good. And you'll still have
problems, but they'll be more manageable." Alucius waited.

After a pause, Talryn laughed brittlely. "And you?"

"I'll go back to being a herder. I'm better at that."

The Lord-Protector offered a lopsided smile. "I have my doubts,
Colonel, but you've more than fulfilled my request. Will you need
an escort… to return?"

"That won't be necessary," Alucius replied. "Not this time." With a
smile, he bowed and turned, walking toward the archway and the
foyer beyond. He stepped to one side, where neither the Lord-
Protector nor his consort could see him, and extended his Talent-
probe toward the darkness below. Then he entered it.

The ley line's dark chill was welcome, and he could find the former
Table building in Salaan with even less difficulty. He stepped
through the silver veil almost directly in front of Wendra and
Alendra.

He found he was hovering a span or so above the floor, and let
himself down before releasing the Talent-link to the ley line.

"That was quick," Wendra observed. "But you don't look like much
of a soarer, even soaring."

"I'll have to work on that. I'm an inexperienced soarer." Alucius
grinned. "Have you finished feeding her? We need to see Feran."

"And then what?"

"I write out my resignation and make him commander, and then we
ride home to the stead."

Wendra nodded. "That might be best. Alendra… she's beginning
to sense too much, I think."

"I wouldn't mind spending some time just riding and talking to you."

"You'll have that." Wendra stood.

Alucius walked toward the doorway to let the lancers know they had
returned.
Chapter 161
Tempre, Lanachrona

Talryn paced back and forth in front of the sideboard, refusing to
look at Alerya. She remained sitting on the loveseat. Her
expression was pleasantly composed.

The Lord-Protector stopped, then looked at his consort and wife.
"You think it's amusing, don't you?"

Alerya tried to maintain her composure before breaking into a wide
smile. "It is, if you think about it, Talryn."

"That man—if he even is a man—has more Talent-power than the
rest of the world. He can appear without notice and leave the same
way. He radiates power. I'm sure you sensed that. He really didn't
give me any choices at all. None at all, and I've been more than
kind to him from the beginning."

"You're upset because he told you, very politely, that you were on
your own, that you'd have to solve your problems without him. After
what he's been through, do you blame him? Would you have
wanted to do what he's done?" She raised her eyebrows.

Talryn glared at his consort. "I'm glad you think it's amusing."

"It is. You're behaving like a little boy who's had his favorite toy
taken away. Or like a child who's discovered that his once-little
friend has grown larger, stronger, and quicker. And you don't like it.
You like giving favors. You don't like having to receive them."

"Me?"

"You." She laughed. "You said you loved me for my terrible
honesty. I'm being terribly honest. He's made sure we could have a
son; he's removed Madrien and Aellyan Edyss as threats and
gotten rid of that terrible Enyll. He saved Southgate for you, and
he's rebuilt the Northern Guard for you. And now, instead of taking
your throne, he's leaving you alone." Her eyes fixed on him. "He's
also a reminder that you'd better act thoughtfully and carefully, and
for that you should be most grateful."

"For that?"

"For that," she repeated. "You don't want to end up like Waleryn or
the Matrial, do you?"

Silence stretched out between the two of them.

"I suppose I should be grateful for all that," Talryn finally conceded.
"But I don't feel grateful."

Alerya rose from the love seat. "I am. You should be. You will be."
She took his hands in hers. "We owe him. Let him be."

Talryn nodded, then smiled warmly, as she bent forward and her
lips brushed his cheek.
Chapter 162

In the twilight, Alucius and Wendra reined up outside the
headquarters building of the Northern Guard.

Alucius turned in the saddle. "Noer, if one of you would see my
wife to the quarters… Then you can return to your duties."

The lancer looked at the gray-haired figure who had led the half
squad from Fifth Company back from Salaan—and the woman
beside him. In the dim illumination of twilight, both stood out,
almost as if the faintest of light-torches shown from within them.

"Yes, sir." Noer nodded.

Alucius dismounted and tied the borrowed mount to the post. "I
need to spend a few moments with Majer Feran."

"I'll be in the quarters," Wendra replied.

Alucius climbed the steps effortlessly and opened the door,
stepping into the building and closing the door after him.

"Colonel! You're back!" Roncar jumped to his feet.

"Like a clipped coin," replied Alucius dryly.

Feran appeared at the doorway of his study. A half smile crossed
his face.

Alucius gestured. "We have a few things to discuss."

"I imagine." Feran followed Alucius, closing the study door behind
him.

Alucius settled into the chair behind the table desk and waited for
Feran to sit down. Then he looked at Feran. "Congratulations,
Colonel. Or Colonel-to-be."

"You're still colonel."

"Not for much longer. I'll be writing my letter of resignation. It's
better this way. I never wanted to be colonel. I just want to go back
to the stead. You can blame all the bad decisions on me, and
everyone will be far happier with a solid career officer at the head
of the Northern Guard. You can serve for another five or ten years,
get a good stipend, and probably find a lovely woman in the
process. And the only truly daunting chore you'll have is to train a
successor. Since we got rid of the worst of the captains and
overcaptains…"

"You herders…" Feran shook his head.

"Do you really think anyone wants me back?" Alucius asked.
"Besides you, maybe?"

"You're a hero. I don't know what you've been doing, but whatever
it was, I'd wager it worked."

"Oh, it worked," Alucius admitted. "You won't have any trouble with
any of the traders or the Talent-twisted. The Lord-Protector has
agreed to let you move the Guard to Iron Stem. The torques of
Madrien don't work, and they won't ever work again. The Lord-
Protector has promised not to change the customs in Lanachrona.
Lustrea and Deforya are still a mess… but they're far enough away
that they won't be a problem for a while. Oh… and none of the
Tables work, and they won't."

"How did all this come to pass?" Feran's tone was dry and
detached.

"It just happened," Alucius said blandly.

"I don't think so. You're the hero. The one in the old poem."

"I doubt that," Alucius replied. "But even if I were, heroes don't
make good commanders. Neither do herders. We're loners by
nature, and everyone can tell that. I've created enough unrest. After
we finish, I'll write out my resignation as colonel, and my
recommendation that you succeed me. It will be accepted. If you
have trouble… send me a message."

Alucius saw no point in saying that the Lord-Protector had already
agreed.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Alucius replied.

Feran laughed, a sound rilled with humor, irony, and sadness.
"You've done great and terrible things, Colonel. You've done them
in ways that no one who wasn't there will ever believe."

"That's probably for the best," Alucius replied.

"What will you do?"

"Run the stead, and whatever else needs to be done." Including
exploring and learning from the Hidden City. And spending time
with Wendra and Alendra.

"I suppose it really is for the best," mused Feran. "For you, too.
You're changed. I can see it. Whatever you've done, even just what
I've seen, being a mere colonel would be a letdown." Feran smiled
sadly. "In a way, I suppose it's almost a tragedy."

"A tragedy?" questioned Alucius.

"It is when you've been covered in glory, saved three lands, and
defeated every foe in battle, and probably done more that I don't
know, all before you've turned thirty years."

"You mean before I had a chance to truly grow up?" Alucius's
words held gentle irony. "It may be better that way. I don't have to
spend the rest of my life seeking glory… or whatever." He smiled
at Feran. "You don't either, you know? Just be solid in the way you
are."

Feran smiled in return. "I can always threaten to call you back." He
paused. "For Fifth Company, maybe for all the Guard, I'll be
Colonel Feran. You'll be 'The Colonel.' "

Alucius shrugged helplessly. "After I write the resignation, we'll get
Wendra and go over to Elyset's for supper."

"So long as you pay, You're still colonel until the Lord-Protector
accepts that resignation." Feran grinned at Alucius.
Chapter 163

Twilight had just fallen across the Iron Valleys when Alucius,
Wendra, and Alendra reached the point on the high road where
they turned off onto the lane leading to the stead. When Alucius
and Wendra had stopped at the cooperage in Iron Stem, Kyrial
and Clerynda had been glad to see Wendra and Alendra, and even
Alucius. But there had been a reserve, far more than with Feran…
or with the Lord-Protector. Alucius had considered that reserve as
they had ridden northward on the ancient high road, and finally he
spoke. "Your parents were relieved to see us, but almost as
relieved to see us off."

"Of course… they never thought their daughter would marry the
hero or the lamaial. They just thought you'd be a good herder who
would give back the heritage of the land to their daughter, and that
we'd just be a good little herder couple. They don't know what
happened, and they don't want to know, and they're afraid they
might learn. They can tell that I've killed people, and worse, and it
frightens them. Daughters aren't supposed to do that." Wendra
patted a complaining Alendra. "It isn't that much farther, little one,
not that much farther."

"Feran said the same thing, when we met while you were tending
Alendra. Before dinner. He said I was the hero. I never did
understand that poem. Not really," Alucius said. "I certainly wasn't a
hero. I did what I could, and I was fortunate."

"There were more than a few who wanted to be the hero, dear
one," she replied. "The barbarian in Illegya, the Matrial and the
Regent, the Praetor, even that ifrit…"

"Tarolt," Alucius supplied.

"That wasn't what the poem was about," Wendra continued.

"What was it about?" asked Alucius. "Besides a dream about
restoring the faded glory of the past, a glory that wasn't really ever
there?"

"What is a hero?" she countered.

"Heroes are the people that everyone recognizes."

"That doesn't define a hero."

"You tell me."

"Someone willing to sacrifice himself for other people. In a way,
the soarers were heroes. They sacrificed themselves for us, for all
of us. We didn't make any sacrifices like that," Wendra pointed out.

"What's the point of sacrificing…" Alucius suddenly broke off as he
understood. "That's it."

"What is?" This time Wendra looked puzzled.

"The ifrits believed that survival justified any action, and they would
sacrifice any world and any people for their way of life. The soarers
believed that no sacrifice was too great to maintain life as it had
been. They were both wrong."

"You're saying that the poem was wrong, too."

"Maybe… it was meant to be wrong." Alucius shifted his weight in
the saddle, looking ahead toward a stead still out of eyesight. "It
doesn't ever say whether the hero or the lamaial was in the right,
now that I think about it."

Wendra laughed. "We won't ever know that."

"In a way, in one way, the ifrits were right," mused Alucius. "So
were the soarers, and neither really saw it."

"Oh?" Wendra's tone was light.

"There's no one living who is not but a lodger upon the land. We
are born, we strive, and we pass. You can only tend and pass on
the land."

"So philosophical."

"So much a herder," he countered.

"That's why we're riding home, instead of using the ley lines. But,
for all that, your mother was right. You are the soarer's child."

Alucius looked at Wendra. "The old song—it's Alendra's as well."
Before Wendra could reply, he recited the last part of the words,
slowly.



"But the soarer's child praise the most,

for she will rout the sanders' host,

and raise the lost banners high

under the green and silver sky."



"You say that well."

"You said I was a soarer. So are you. What does that make her?"

Wendra turned in the saddle, her smile and eyes bright. "Ours. The
land's."

In the darkening sky to the east, just above the Aerial Plateau, both
Asterta and Selena shone full across the Iron Valleys, and across
the stead just ahead of the three riders. Three riders coming
home.