Darknesses (39 page)

A
lucius
did not sleep well
either Octdi or Novdi night. His dreams—those that he
remembered—combined alabaster-skinned figures with pteridons and wild sandoxes
as he scrambled through endless tunnels trying to discover…something. That, he
reflected, was his problem. Everyone around him seemed to have something they
wanted from him. Some, like Captain-Colonel Omaryk, had been very clear on what
they wanted. Others, like Majer Ebuin, had been far less obvious.

On
Decdi, the headquarters was largely empty, as Alucius would have expected on
end day, but he spent the morning, after eating, checking on third squad, then
returned to his quarters to try to consider what might lie before him.

Except
for the one time, he had not sensed the purpleness coming from the
Lord-Protector’s palace—or anywhere else; nor had he received any messages,
veiled or otherwise, since the one delivered by the marshals on his arrival. He
had not seen anyone with a pale white face or alabaster skin. Nor had he seen
or sensed any soarers, sanders, or Talent-creatures.

The
only message he had been given was that, unless he did what the Lord-Protector
wanted, his way of life, his family, his stead, could all be wiped out. But he
still had no idea what the Lord-Protector wanted—except that the Lord-Protector
definitely wanted Alucius to be aware of that fact.

Finally,
on Decdi afternoon, Captain Deen appeared to escort Alucius out to the personal
dwelling of Arms-Commander Wyerl. The afternoon was cooler than those of the
previous days, and while they rode past some other riders and several
carriages, the streets and roads of Tempre were less than crowded, far less
than on the Septi when Alucius had ridden into the capital city.

“…beautiful
afternoon…harvesttime is especially beautiful in Tempre. It’s too bad you
haven’t had a chance to see the river…”

“Does
your family live near here?” Alucius interrupted Captain Deen’s monologue.

“No,
they live on the west side, out beyond the market section. You have to have
coins to live here in the Golden Hills. That’s why they call it the Golden
Hills, you know. You have to have golds to live in these hills. Or be a
marshal. One of my cousins lives just north of here. He calls where he lives
part of the silver slopes because it’s just downhill of the gold. He might make
enough golds someday. He’s already got fifteen wagons running the roads, most
of them on the square, but a couple on the Southgate run—”

“On
the square?”

“Oh,
the high roads make close to a square between Tempre, Krost, Syan, and
Hyalt—Vyan’s in there, too, but it’s really part of the Krost to Syan leg, and
by running a regular schedule, he gets more goods from the traders. He’s done
well, and he’s only a few years older than I am. Asked me if I wanted to head
up the wagon guards, train them, that sort of thing. That’s not what I’m good
at, but I had to think. He offered more than a few golds…”

Alucius
kept listening as they crossed the ridge and rode along the stone-paved way
over two more low hills. Marshal Wyerl’s residence was a long and low structure
set amid gardens, with a low stone wall a yard and a half high surrounding it.
Two Southern Guards stood as Alucius and Deen rode through the opening in the
wall and along the circular lane to the main entry.

“The
marshal said he’d send an escort back with you, sir. I’ll see you in the
morning. Remember, you’re to meet the Lord-Protector a glass before noon.”

“I’ll
be ready. Until then.” Alucius reined up and dismounted.

One
of the Southern Guards took the reins from Alucius. “He’ll be stabled in back,
sir.”

“Thank
you.”

Even
before Alucius reached the golden oak door, it opened. A round-faced woman with
golden hair in tight-curled ringlets stood there. “You must be Overcaptain
Alucius. I’m Queyela. Wyerl said you’d be here any moment. Do come in.”

Alucius
bowed. “Thank you.” He stepped though the doorway into a golden-tiled foyer
three yards on a side.

A
girl who looked to be ten or twelve stood in the archway on the left side of
the foyer.

“Elizien…”

Before
the girl’s mother could finish, Alucius moved forward several steps, stopping
well short of the girl, who might have reached midchest on him. “Elizien,
that’s a beautiful name. Do you like it?” Alucius grinned.

“It
is
my name,” the girl replied.

“Mine
is Alucius.”

“I
know. You’re an officer who was a herder in the north.”

“I’d
still like to think I am,” Alucius replied.

“Did
you really kill a pteridon?”

“Several,
actually.”

“Why?
They’re awfully rare. Father says that there haven’t been any in Corus since
before the Cataclysm.”

“I
didn’t have much choice. The pteridons’ riders were trying to kill my
troopers.”

“Couldn’t
you have stopped them some other way?”

“Elizien…if
I had known any other way…” Alucius shrugged helplessly. “If they hadn’t been
trying to kill us, I wouldn’t have wanted to do anything to them.”

“That’s
sad.”

“Elizien…”
offered the girl’s mother gently, “your father is expecting the overcaptain.”

“I
know.” Elizien bowed, then slipped back down the corridor and out of sight.

“Do
you have children, Overcaptain?” asked Queyela.

“No.
I expect we will…at least I hope we will.”

“No
matter what you think, you’ll be surprised,” the woman said with a laugh.
“They’re expecting you out back. If you come this way…”

Alucius
followed her to a door open to the rear terrace where the two marshals stood,
looking at the garden beyond.

Alucius
did his best with his Talent-senses to pick up what they might be saying.

“…here
he comes…Recorder claims he’s the most dangerous man in Corus…”

“…that
was last month…good officer…Recorder doesn’t like them…”

“…don’t
interrogate him long, Frynkel…want a pleasant meal…”

“…just
a few moments…”

Alucius
kept a pleasant smile on his face as he stepped out onto the terrace.

“Alucius!”
Wyerl smiled broadly.

Alucius
could detect neither malice nor caution behind the words. “Marshal…you’re most
kind to have me here.”

“Kind,
perhaps, but we always have motives. Submarshal Frynkel wanted a few words with
you. I’ve told him to be brief, but he wished to speak with you before your
audience with the Lord-Protector tomorrow.”

“It
may indeed be brief. I doubt that there is much I have not already told
someone.”

“I
will bring you something to drink. What might you have?”

“Ale
or white wine.”

“We
do have some rather fine ale.” Wyerl turned away, leaving Alucius with the
other officer.

Submarshal
Frynkel stood a span or so less than did Marshal Wyerl, and had already lost
most of the hair on his head. What remained was fine and black. His face was
dominated by a sharp nose and deep and intent black eyes.

“Overcaptain
Alucius. The hero of Dereka.” The words were gently spoken, not quite
mockingly, but not totally seriously.

“Others
may have said such.” Alucius laughed. “I only claim to have survived.”

“Surviving
is often all any of us can claim. Yet your men say little. Did you know that?”

“I
cannot say I am surprised. Few would wish to talk about a campaign where they
lost so many comrades. Nor one so far from home.”

“They
would lose more to protect you, Overcaptain,” Frynkel added. “That loyalty is
most rare.”

“They’re
good troopers, sir, and we’ve been through much together.”

“You
lead your men from the front, Overcaptain. Do you know how many officers last
through a year of battle in that position?”

“No,
sir.”

“I’ve
had my staff look into it. There are many things we keep track of. I’m sure
you’ve come to notice that.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“That
is not something that we keep track of. So I have sent letters to every
commander that I can trust. Do you know what the responses I have received
indicate?”

Alucius
had a very good idea, but merely answered, “I would not wish to guess against
your diligence, sir.”

“I
wish I had captain-colonels who could tell me ‘no’ that gracefully.” Frynkel
laughed, then added, “Not one could recall any officer who consistently led
from the front and survived. I’d be most interested in your explanation as to
how you have survived something like three years of combat in leadership.”

“What
else could it be, but luck, or fortune, sir? I’ve been wounded a number of
times, and some of those wounds could have been deadly had they been a span in
one direction or another.”

“That
would have been my first thought. That is, until Captain-Colonel Omaryk and I
had supper together. You led at least four charges through vastly superior
forces, as the point rider, just at the battle of Dereka. Even nightsilk
shouldn’t have saved you.”

“Sir,
I can’t explain that. Herders are a shade tougher, because of our training, but
I’ve been cut, bruised, wounded, and burned enough to know that I’m as mortal
as any other man.” That was absolutely true, so far as Alucius knew.

“You
won’t get more than that, Frynkel,” suggested Wyerl, handing Alucius a tall
beaker of pale amber ale and a second one to the submarshal.

“I
was hoping. I did have one more question.”

Alucius
nodded as he took a small swallow of the ale.

“Would
it be better for Lanachrona to honor your obligation and release you, or
request your service for another year?”

Alucius
tilted his head slightly. “That is another question I can’t answer. I’m a good
officer. There are doubtless others as good. Most of the Northern Guard
officers know my situation. If the arms-commander or the Lord-Protector
extended my service against my wishes, or created conditions where I had no
choice but to agree, I would judge that the effect on other officers in the
Northern Guard would be less than desirable. Whether what I might accomplish
would be worth that is not something I have the knowledge to weigh.”

Wyerl
smiled broadly, shaking his head. “What the man is saying, Frynkel, is that
he’s accomplished miracles and survived, just in hopes of going home. If we
extend him, half the officers in the Northern Guard will lose all desire to act
as officers should. I wouldn’t be surprised if that didn’t spill over to our
Southern Guard.”

With
Wyerl’s comments, and the heartfelt emotions behind them, Alucius was totally
confused. Why had he been ordered to Tempre? Just for information and to be
thanked? He doubted that, yet…

“You’re
probably right,” Frynkel admitted, “but I was requested to explore that
possibility.”

“Enough.
We have a wonderful meal planned, and we
are
going
to enjoy it.” Wyerl gestured toward the garden. “This is Queyela’s herb garden,
or rather the right section is. I don’t imagine the ground and climate in the
Iron Valleys allow this sort of thing, do they?”

“South
of Iron Stem, I’ve seen a few, but on the quarasote flats, and below the
Plateau, where we live, the ground is too dry and sandy for that.”

“Is
the Plateau truly as tall as they claim?”

“It’s
higher than the Upper Spine Mountains. My grandsire told me once that the edges
rose close to seven thousand yards straight up above the Valleys…”

Wyerl
nodded.

Alucius
understood that the marshal had meant what he had said, that the meal would be
just that, and he hoped that he would enjoy it.

“Here’s
Elizien.” Wyerl turned and watched as the brown-haired girl smiled, then
beckoned to her father. “I told her she could join us for supper. You don’t
mind, do you?”

“I’d
like that.” Alucius smiled. Perhaps he could enjoy the meal.

Tempre,
Lanachrona

“Y
ou
are kind, Talryn.”
Alerya, her countenance ashen, looked up from the
pillows of the high bed at her consort. “I am so sorry. I had hoped this
time…It would have made your tasks easier. Now…everyone will know, and matters
will be more difficult…”

“Having
an heir has little impact on who can attack and whom I can trust. The
trustworthy remain so, as the untrustworthy remain untrustworthy.” The
Lord-Protector shook his head slowly. “There are always too few of the former,
and too many of the latter.”

“You
are meeting with the herder overcaptain later this morning, are you not?”
Alerya’s voice was low, yet forced.

“I
am.”

“What
will you do? Have you decided?”

“Reward
him, of course. You knew that. What else can I do? Should I allow his service
to be shortened as well?”

“He
is a Talent-wielder, is he not?”

“He
was successful against the pteridons, and they were most certainly
Talent-creatures. At the least he must have a way with them. Enyll claims he
is, but I trust Enyll’s motives not at all.” The Lord-Protector looked at his
weak and exhausted consort. “What would you have me do?”

“Tell
Enyll that you wish him in the audience chamber for just a moment, to observe
the overcaptain and to slip out before you speak. Then ask Enyll afterward what
he observed. That will tell you much of what you wish to know.”

“And
then what?” The Lord-Protector smiled down on his consort, reaching out and
caressing her pale cheek. “I should not tire you.”

“You
have someone give the overcaptain a tour of the palace, of
all
the palace.”

“And
you think that will—”

“There
are…” she winced, then continued, “the overcaptain could be like Enyll, or he
could be as we believe, a man compelled to do what he believes best, even if he
wishes otherwise. Whatever happens or does not will tell you much. If the
overcaptain is merely a good man, he will accept your graces and be thankful
and return to the Iron Valleys. If he is more, he may act, or not. Or, if he is
more, Enyll may act. Ask the overcaptain to wait for you to ready a missive to
his colonel. Then…you must watch, and be prepared to do what is necessary.” Her
smile faded. “I…am tired…so tired.”

The
Lord-Protector lifted the bell on the table by the bed, then bent down beside
Alerya’s ear. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to tire you…”

“You…did
not…”

He
held her hand, and they waited.