Darknesses (25 page)

T
he
sun had already dropped
below the western peaks of the Barrier Range by
the time all the companies had been gathered. One of Heald’s scouts had also
traveled more than a vingt along the western road and reported back to Alucius
that the trail was sound that far, if sandy in places, and looked to be in good
shape for at least half a vingt farther.

Majer
Draspyr and the remnants of Twenty-third Company led the long column, which
included only one wagon, with the four Deforyan cooks who had been abandoned,
and all the remaining horses bearing ammunition and supplies. Twenty-first
Company, set to be the last company, was providing guard duty as the others
rode through the stable tunnel and out onto the western road. So far there had
been no sign of the nomads moving toward Black Ridge on the other road.

As
soon as the last horses had passed through the stable and were waiting in the
tunnel, as was Wildebeast, three troopers from Twenty-first Company began
replacing the stones in the archway, from the tunnel side. As they worked,
Carlis, a slender trooper, swept the stone surface from the front of the stable
back toward the tunnel archway.

When
he reached the archway, then halfway filled with stones, the others helped him
up, and supported him while he swept the area close to the wall, then eased
him—and the broom—through the opening, before finishing replacing the stones.

Alucius
hoped that, by leaving no tracks in the stable, the nomads would simply look at
the stoned-up archway and not investigate farther—or not too soon. The time
taken wasn’t wasted, because, at the least, the nomads would have to spend some
time undoing the stones. The farther that the understrength Northern Guard
companies—and the one half-strength Southern Guard company—could travel before
being discovered, the better. There was always the possibility of the pteridons
finding them, although that was somewhat less because there were fewer
pteridons, and because the initial travel was under the cover of darkness. He
could hope that the nomads would be more careful with their remaining
pteridons—and that they didn’t come up with more of the creatures.

Alucius
and the remaining troopers repeated the process of sweeping and stoning up the
second archway, before moving to catch up to the others on the beginning of the
long trip back to Dereka. Alucius hoped that the journey would not be too long,
and that it would be very uneventful.

South
of Black Ridge, Illegea

I
n
the light of midmorning,
Aellyan Edyss surveyed the handful of
warleaders who stood before him at the base of the narrow trail that led upward
to Black Ridge.

“There
is no one there? No one at all?”

“You
asked for an attack at dawn. We attacked. No one resisted us. We have searched
everywhere there. They are not there, but they are not on the trail road back
to Dereka. They have vanished as if they never were.”

Aellyan
Edyss laughed, and his laughter boomed out across the grasslands. “Then there
is nothing between us and Dereka!”

“They
have vanished,” protested one older warleader. “There are no fresh bodies, and
there are no horses. None of our warriors have seen them.”

“They
are hiding in the rocks, to avoid us, and they will die there, except for a
handful that give themselves up and beg for mercy. They will not receive mercy,
not after all the years of scorn and all the years when they invaded our
lands.” The blond leader, whose face had become so fair that it was nearly
white, turned and gestured toward the glasslands to the south. “Their lands
will also become ours.”

“They
destroyed many of the pteridons…”

Edyss
turned slowly, glaring, but could not determine who had uttered the words. “It
does not matter. We still have enough and we could take Dereka without a single
winged Talent-beast. They have less than twenty companies of horsemen, and they
would rather flee than fight. The westerners would fight, but they too have
fled. No one else will come to defend the Landarch and his fat landowners.”

This
time, no one protested.

“Leave
a garrison there.” He pointed toward Black Ridge. “But not a large one. Ride for
Dereka. We will join you on the far side of the mountains.”

T
he
sky was silver-green and cloudless,
as it had been for most of the year,
and more red dust sifted upward with each step by every horse in front of
Alucius and Wildebeast, although there were only those of the vanguard, because
Twenty-first Company was now in the lead. Under the warm late-summer sun,
Alucius yawned and tried to stretch in the saddle. After five days of riding,
with almost no sleep on the first night, he was sore, and stiff, and tired,
although they had found two cavelike waystations, with springs. In the second,
they had had to dig away drifted sand to make an entrance and get to the water,
but the water had been clear and pure…and most welcome.

Following
the rediscovered western trail road, the weary troopers and officers had taken
four days before they had finally rejoined the main road—through a short
tunnel, also filled with an unmortared stone wall at each end. Alucius had
insisted that the second stone-filled archway be refilled. Then he had the
residue and sand shoveled against it, as if over the years the wind had piled
it against the stone blocks. While the Deforyan troopers might look askance,
the nomads probably wouldn’t, since they weren’t that familiar with the road.

The
western road had run its separate way long enough that they had rejoined the
main road north of the nomads. That had been clear from the lack of recent
tracks in the main road. Where the two trails rejoined was roughly where the
mountains ended and the red sandy hills and the thorn trees began, although the
valley that held both Dereka and the good road was days ahead. Still, the trail
had widened enough so that the column could ride two abreast, and there were no
traces of nomad tracks in the dust—not so far.

“How
do you think the Deforyans will feel about us coming back?” asked Longyl,
riding to the right of Alucius.

“They’ll
welcome us for killing large numbers of nomads, and behind closed doors,
they’ll complain that we didn’t kill enough, and that the Lord-Protector didn’t
send enough companies. Then, they’ll probably want us in the fore of the big
battle when the nomads try to take Dereka. Not right in the center, but
somewhere close where we can take huge casualties.”

“Captain
Feran said you were feeling right cheerful, sir. I can see what he meant.”

“Like
everyone, I’m just tired, Longyl.” Alucius felt neither cheerful nor
charitable, and he doubted it was just exhaustion. He and Waris and the scouts
had managed to save most of the troopers, but the time at Black Ridge and
leaving it didn’t feel like a victory, or even like much of an accomplishment.
He should have followed his feelings about the symmetrical nature of Black
Ridge from the beginning. Yet…would that have changed anything that much? They
couldn’t have retreated immediately. Not without being considered cowardly by
both the Lord-Protector and the Landarch and facing disciplinary action from
Colonel Weslyn and the Lord-Protector. And without facing the pteridons under
conditions that had actually favored them, they wouldn’t have been able to kill
those pteridons that they had.

By
killing something like half the pteridons, they had reduced the impact of the
deadly beasts. They had killed hundreds of the nomads with losses amounting to
slightly more than one company. They’d effectively shielded Dereka and allowed
the Landarch time to call in troopers from the northeast—if he would. And they
had certainly reduced the risk the nomads posed to Lanachrona and the Iron
Valleys.

All
that considered, why did Alucius feel so depressed by the situation?

Because
he knew that no one would be pleased with the situation? Because they hadn’t
done the impossible and stopped the nomads? Because they hadn’t destroyed all
the pteridons? Because there were still more battles ahead with a dubious ally?

Alucius
took a deep breath and looked northward. Maybe, once they reached Dereka, rest
and food would help his attitude.

He
hoped so.

J
ust
before midday,
with high hazy clouds over Dereka, Alucius crossed the
ancient stone courtyard of Lancer Prime Post toward the officers’ café. Two
days had passed since he and the western forces had returned to Dereka, and
while he had gotten more sleep and far better food, as had the troopers, he was
still concerned.

The
other three officers were already seated at a circular table in one corner of
the café when Alucius stepped inside. Although a handful of Deforyan officers
were also eating, none was close to the Northern Guard officers, with empty
tables around Heald, Feran, and Koryt.

The
Deforyan cook, on the other hand, looked at Alucius’s uniform as he stood by
the low railing that separated the grill and stove area from the tables, and
said, “We have some fine chicken here, sir. I can even put lace potatoes with
it, and there’s a good plumapple wine sauce.”

“Thank
you. I’d appreciate that very much, and any fruit that you have.”

“Yes,
sir. I’ll bring it right out. You just sit down.” With a smile, the cook turned
back to the grill.

Alucius
crossed the polished stone floor and seated himself at the single empty chair
with the others. “The cooks are friendly.”

“I
think the ones we brought back told their buddies,” Heald observed. “It hasn’t
made the Deforyan officers happy.”

“Glad
someone appreciates what we did,” Feran said, taking a sip from a large beaker
of ale. “No one else does.”

Low
and rueful laughter went around the table.

“Have
you seen the majer this morning?” asked Koryt.

“Majer
Draspyr has a meeting with the Deforyan submarshal…” Alucius paused. “Ahorak,
the Assistant Arms-Commander, to discuss the need for the defense of Dereka.”

“What
is there to discuss?” asked Feran. “The city needs a defense. The nomads are
riding this way. They want the city and everything in it. If they aren’t
stopped, they’ll take it.”

The
cook appeared with a large platter and a beaker of the pale golden ale.

“Thank
you.” Alucius still couldn’t get used to the idea of an officers’ mess that was
a café where he didn’t have to pay.

The
cook bowed, then slipped away.

“Their
spirits of the mountain didn’t do that much,” Heald said, after finishing the
last mouthful of potatoes. “Not that I could see.”

“Alucius
did more with the road,” Feran suggested.

“Who
do you think blocked off that second road? And why?” asked Koryt.

Alucius
took a mouthful of chicken, well seasoned and tender, before replying. “I don’t
know, but it was done a long time ago. I’d guess the western road was sealed
off right after the Cataclysm by one of the first Landarches. He probably
wanted to make it harder for the nomads to reach Dereka. That’s only a guess.
Also, by sealing it that way, it meant that they had an alternative that no one
knew about. The only problem was that someone forgot.”

“Forgot,
or just kept secret?” asked Feran.

“Probably
kept secret for generations,” suggested Heald, “then forgotten.” He stopped
talking and looked toward the door.

Majer
Draspyr had stepped into the café and was surveying the tables. Then, upon
seeing his four officers, he walked toward them, past the Deforyan officers and
the empty quarter circle of tables around the western officers.

The
four stood, and Alucius moved to take a chair from the nearest table. “Would
you join us, sir?”

Draspyr
frowned, but only momentarily, then laughed, once, before replying. “I think I
will. This is as a good a place to meet as anywhere.”

Even
before the majer had seated himself, a cook appeared at his elbow, setting an
ale in a tall beaker before him. “Sir…would you like the chicken and the lace
potatoes? It’s the best.”

“Ah…yes,
thank you.”

The
cook bowed and hurried away.

Alucius
noted the frowns from the Deforyan officers, but said nothing.

“Almost
embarrassing,” Draspyr muttered. “Couldn’t leave them there, cooks or not.”

“The
Deforyans did, sir,” Heald pointed out.

Draspyr
raised his eyebrows. “That may be. We’re not Deforyans.”

“Could
you tell us what happened at your meeting, sir,” Alucius asked, “if you can,
that is. And about the ammunition?”

“I
was looking to do that.” Draspyr lowered his voice. “First, the ammunition.
There’s actually a hunting gun used against the plains antelopes that has the
same diameter as your cartridges. They have a shorter casing, but the way
they’re cut can be adjusted. In fact, the armory is already working out the
cartridges, and we should have at least several hundred by tomorrow, and
perhaps a great number more in a few days. That was the easy part.”

Several
hundred would help, Alucius reflected, but they needed more like several
thousand.

“The
nomads are another problem,” Draspyr went on. “The submarshal says that the
marshal says that the Landarch isn’t convinced that there are pteridons.” He
snorted. “I don’t know if that means that Ahorak doesn’t think so or none of
them think so. Not one of Ahorak’s officers saw them. They didn’t see them
because they were riding away with their lordly tails between their
yellow-stained legs.”

“Maybe
it’s a good thing that Twenty-first Company didn’t destroy them all,” Heald
said quietly. “If we’d managed that, then he never would believe us.”

“Oh…”
Feran added, “he’s the kind that will claim we didn’t destroy any of them and
that whatever number there might be that come north…he’ll say that’s how many
there always were.”

Alucius
had thought about both those possibilities, but was happy he didn’t have to
voice them.

“If
we weren’t caught in the middle,” Koryt suggested, “I’d almost rather see the
nomads take over this place.”

“Enough,”
Draspyr said quietly. “We are in the middle, and we have orders to help repel
the nomads. If the nomads aren’t thrown back…” He shrugged and left the
sentence unfinished.

As
far as Alucius was concerned, the majer didn’t have to finish the thought.

“What
do the Landarch and the marshal want?” Alucius asked. “Did he say?”

“They
speak most politely and elegantly, Overcaptain, and at great length. When
they’ve finished, I’m not certain still that they have said anything.” Draspyr
lifted the beaker of ale before him, then took a swallow. “That tastes good.
Almost as good as a solid vyan vintage, but you can’t get those here.” He
waited until the cook had delivered his meal and left the table before
continuing. “Until today, the marshal—the submarshal—was not even convinced
that the nomads were coming, but the Deforyan scouts have reported thirty
companies two days south of Dereka. The submarshal suggested that, given the
size of the nomad forces, the Lord-Protector might have been well-advised to
send more than five companies.”

Koryt
winced.

“I
just told him that we were here and would do our best.” Draspyr took another
swallow of the ale. “I’d like you all to think about how we might best conduct
ourselves in an open-field battle. Talk it over among yourselves, and then
we’ll meet again tonight after supper. I’m to meet with both the marshal and the
submarshal tomorrow morning, when the order of battle—if there is a battle—will
be discussed.” Draspyr began to eat his dinner.

Feran
looked at Alucius, who provided the slightest of shrugs.

What
else could they do but try to figure out how to kill thousands of nomads? That,
or kill the last of the pteridons and the nomad warleaders, if they could even
determine who and where they were amid the hordes of riders.

A
rueful smile crossed Alucius’s lips. Killing the pteridons
might
be possible. He had monumental doubts about the practicality of the rest.