Darknesses (26 page)

Alustre,
Lustrea

T
he
sound of boots
on the polished pink-gray granite floor came after Vestor
had already been warned of the Praetor’s approach by the flashing crystal inset
beside the metal mirror. By the time he heard the footsteps, the engineer had
already replaced the quartz top to the sheltered workbench, concealing both
mirror and crystals, and stepped around the tanks, where he waited for the
Praetor, bathed in the hazy light of late summer streaming from one of the
narrow-slit windows.

Tyren
stopped a yard short of Vestor.

The
engineer inclined his head. “Praetor Tyren.”

“I
have not heard much of late from you, Vestor. I thought I should visit you and
hear from you yourself.” Tyren studied the engineer. “You have been working
hard. Your face is pale, and your hair darker from lack of sun.” He nodded.
“Yet you look stronger and healthier.”

“My
health is good, Praetor.” Vestor smiled politely. “I am enjoying both the tower
quarters and the freedom you have provided me. I have put both to good use. We
will have all the light-blades you require by spring, and you will have ten, I
would judge, by the end of harvest.”

Tyren
frowned, ever so slightly, before nodding. “I had hoped that you might have
found a way to produce the crystals more quickly.”

“I
can produce only so many at a time, Praetor, unless you wish me to train other
engineers, and there appear to be few who have both Talent and the ability to
be engineers.”

Tyren
laughed ruefully. “We have found none. There are few indeed with Talent in
Lustrea in these times.”

“There
have been few in any time since the Cataclysm.”

“So
you have told me.”

“I
have not been idle. As you requested, I have worked upon the calculations and
the materials necessary to produce a Table of the Recorders—a true Table. The
Table cannot be located in Alustre, because there are no nodes here, nor
anywhere nearby.”

“Nodes?”

“Beneath
the surface of Corus run unseen webs of power. These webs hold the world
together. For a Table to work—without exploding—the Table must be assembled in
a locale where at least two lines of this power cross, and preferably where
three are located.” Vestor gestured toward the map mounted in an oak frame and
set upon a sturdy easel. With the gesture, he was easily able to avoid looking
at the Praetor without seeming to do so. “I did decipher the ancient codes.
Alustre, Elcien, and Ludar were once all set upon such nodes, but Alustre is no
longer. There is a good possibility of such a node in or near Prosp.”

“There
are no other suitable locations?”

“There
might be one near Norda…or possibly Dulka,” Vestor replied, again looking
squarely at the Praetor. “Those are the most likely locations.”

“How
long would it take you to determine such?”

“It
would take me longer to travel to each than to determine. No more than a few
days in any place where you would like such a Table.”

“But
we would have to build a suitably strong building…would we not?”

“It
would not have to be terribly large, and the Table itself would need to be
below ground, in order to lock into the nodes and flows.”

Tyren
nodded thoughtfully. “You have learned much, Vestor, and as your works come to
fruition, you will continue to be rewarded.”

“Thank
you, Praetor.”

“Is
there anything else you have discovered? Anything that might augment the power
of our legions?”

“I
may have discovered the keys to an ancient manual in your library that presents
other weapons, possibly the secret of the Myrmidon’s skylances.”

“The
nomads already have those,” Tyren pointed out.

“I
beg your pardon, Praetor. They have skylances, but we destroyed half of them in
that ill-fated battle. They may lose more—they may have already—when they
attack Deforya or Lanachrona. They have skylances, but they cannot construct
more of them.”

Tyren
laughed. “You are truly a wonder, Vestor. Truly. You build skylances, and I
will build you a summer palace in the Acolian Hills—a small palace, but a
palace.” He paused. “And remember. I have always kept my word.”

“That
I know, Praetor.” Vestor gestured to the crystal tanks. “Would you like to see
the latest crystals?”

The
two men walked toward the tanks.

I
n
the gray light
before the dawn of a Duadi morning, Alucius glanced
around the courtyard of Lancer Prime Post, now almost entirely filled with
troopers, most in the red tunics of Deforya. His eyes centered on Twenty-first
Company. They had been fortunate. The company still had ninety troopers.
Feran’s Fifth Company was down to around eighty, as were Third Company and
Eleventh Company. Twenty-third Company had been so badly mangled by the
pteridons that Draspyr had reorganized its fifty-two survivors into three
squads under a senior squad leader reporting directly to the majer.

The
air in the courtyard was hot and still, a courtyard filled with the sounds of
mounts breathing, sometimes heavily, the creaking of leather, and voices shouting
reports and orders. With his nightsilk undergarments and the herders’ vest
under his tunic, Alucius felt far hotter than he would have liked, but they had
saved his life more than once, and he could always drink more water. He glanced
down at the water bottles, then back up, waiting for riding orders.

The
first ten Deforyan companies had already wheeled and were riding out of the
open gates, headed southward on the main street.

“Twenty-first
Company!” called out Majer Draspyr from where he was mounted beside the stone
platform where the Deforyan adjutant was calling out the orders.

“Ready
to ride,” Alucius replied.

“You’re
next, Overcaptain.”

Alucius
nodded to Longyl.

“Twenty-first
Company! To the rear…”

Once
the company emerged from the gates, as they turned southward and away from the
Landarch’s palace and the center of Dereka, Alucius glanced to the north. There
the streets looked no different than before, early as it was, with a handful of
shopkeepers and larger handfuls of beggars and a few others. Those who were out
were not even looking, except with passing glances, at all the horsemen, as if
no one knew or cared that thousands of nomads were massing to the south or that
fewer thousands of Deforyan Lancers and Northern Guards were massing to meet
them.

Longyl
followed the overcaptain’s glance. “You’d think they’d go somewhere. At least
to their homes. Or take the high road east, anywhere away from here.”

“Where
would they go? They wouldn’t be welcomed by any of the landowners. They might
even get shot. There’s no water, except for what the aqueduct brings, and that
doesn’t go any farther east from here.”

“If…and
I know it’s a wager of the sort too high for odds, sir, but
if
we get through this, I can’t help thinking I’ll be glad
to get back to the Iron Valleys, even under the Lord-Protector.”

Alucius
didn’t much care for the Lord-Protector, but then, he hadn’t cared much for the
Council that had sold out the Iron Valleys to the Lord-Protector. He certainly
didn’t care for what he’d seen of those who ruled Deforya, and the evil behind
the Matrial’s rule had been so palpable that he still found it hard to believe
that such evil had governed such a prosperous land and, in its own way, a land
that had tried so hard to treat people fairly.

“I’ll
be glad to get home, too,” was what Alucius said. “Our task is to find a way to
make it possible.” That was looking to be every bit as hard as Alucius had
feared it would be.

As
they continued to ride southward, a light wind began to blow at Alucius’s back,
cool for late summer, and just enough to lift the worst of the stagnant hot air
within Dereka.

After
another quarter of a glass, the column of riders turned and headed
east-northeast along a narrower road that formed an arc between the south road
and the high road that led eastward toward the Northern Pass, some two hundred
vingts farther northeast. From the sketchy briefing he had received earlier,
Alucius understood that the nomads had established themselves some ten vingts
to the southeast of Dereka, along one of the few streams south of the city.
Scouts had been watching every move. With the arrival of four pteridons late in
the afternoon on the day before, even the Deforyan officers had conceded that
the beasts existed. But just as Feran had predicted, according to Majer
Draspyr, they had expressed polite doubt that as many as ten or eleven had
attacked Black Ridge.

The
majer had said little to the Northern Guard officers about his briefing, but he
had said it with clipped words, and even those without Talent had sensed his
frustration and anger.

As
he rode along the ring road, Alucius reached out with his Talent, but could
gain little in the way of impressions because so many lifewebs swirled around
him so closely, and because the nomads were at least several vingts away, if
not farther. To his right, the knee-high green-tinged golden grass of late
summer extended a good two or three vingts to the horizon, the top of a long
rise to the southeast.

“You
think they’ll attack right off?” asked Longyl.

“They
can’t wait too long,” Alucius replied. “There’s nothing to forage off to the
south, except grass for their mounts, and there aren’t that many places where
they can get enough water for that horde. Besides, they’ve got the pteridons
and far more warriors than we have troopers, and nothing’s stopped them so
far.”

“We
slowed them down. Killed a bunch.”

“We’re
going to have to kill more than that,” Alucius pointed out.

“Too
bad we don’t have rain. That might keep those beasts away,” Longyl said. “If
the clouds were low.”

“We
haven’t seen any rain in a season,” Alucius replied with a laugh. “I’m not
expecting any now. Besides, they’d just wait. We’re not about to attack a force
that big.”

He
broke off the conversation as he noted that the companies ahead were stopping and
wheeling into position perpendicular to the ring road, being positioned by a
Deforyan majer. “Twenty-first Company…prepare to wheel to position!”

“Twenty-first
Company…” Longyl echoed.

As
the sun seeped over the grasslands to the east, the Deforyan Lancers and the
Northern Guards—and what remained of the one company of the Southern Guard—were
drawn up along the central arc of the ring road on the southeast side of
Dereka. Facing endless waves of grass, they were positioned directly between
the nomad camp and the city, and on the road that could take them swiftly
either farther east or farther south, should the nomads decide to attack from
another direction. Each squad in Twenty-first Company was arrayed four deep and
five across—except that it was more like five across and three deep with a few
behind the third rank in most cases. Farther back were five Deforyan companies,
deployed to be able to fill in any gaps or to support against a more directed
attack.

Alucius
looked to his left, where, fifty yards to the northeast, Feran was mounted
before Fifth Company. Beyond Feran was the majer, and beyond him, Heald, then
Koryt. To Alucius’s right was a Deforyan overcaptain and captain he did not
know, and then, another fifty yards to the southwest, another set of officers.
The pattern continued for farther than he could distinguish any individual
officers. From what Alucius could tell, the Northern Guard companies were about
four companies to the north of the center of the formation.

Alucius
wondered if the nomads would sweep out of the rising sun, but another half
glass passed, and the sun climbed, and there was still no sign of any riders
anywhere to the south and east.

More
time passed, and the light breeze died away, leaving an oppressive calm.
Alucius ordered a break, by squads, to allow his men to stretch their legs and
move around.

A
single trooper rode along the front of the defense force. “Nomads sighted! All
companies into position! Nomads sighted…”

“Twenty-first
Company! Ready to ride!”

Alucius
looked to the southeast once more. He waited less than a tenth of a glass when,
for a moment, it appeared as though a shadow had been cast over the grassy rise
to the southeast, because darkness crept across the golden grass. But there
were no clouds in the silver-green sky, and the darkness was the mass of nomad
riders, moving deliberately toward the defenders.

“Check
your rifles!” Alucius ordered.

Even
before they neared the Deforyans, Alucius could see that the nomad riders were
not riding forward as a line, but as a massive wedge aimed at the center of the
Deforyan line, although the trailing edges of the wedge clearly overlapped both
ends of the Deforyan formation.

“Lot
of targets,” observed Longyl.

“More
than I’d like,” Alucius replied.

With
less than a vingt between the forces, the nomads slowed, then halted.

Alucius
had a good idea why they had halted, and he watched, again waiting.

Four
black shapes rose into the sky, from behind the rise over which the advancing
mass of nomad riders had ridden. The pteridons circled higher into the sky and
turned northwest, aimed directly toward the center of the Deforyan formation.

Unlike
the attacks on Black Ridge, as the nomads rode closer, the pteridons also flew
ever closer, but they did not swoop, but remained higher. Alucius wondered.
Would they attack at the last moment? Why were they so high, and in the center?
Because they had learned that only a few of the defenders could hurt them?

There
were no commands from the Deforyan marshals…no orders.

Alucius
could see that the wedge would strike the center well before the trailing edges
would near Twenty-first Company.

“Twenty-first
Company, left oblique! Prepare to fire! First volley as single target! First
volley as single target!”

“Fifth
Company, take oblique on Twenty-first Company! Prepare to fire!”

Alucius
could feel the ground thunder as the nomads changed from a fast walk into a
full gallop toward the center of the line. He watched the distance narrow. At
what he judged to be a hundred and fifty yards, he gave the order.
“Twenty-first Company! Open fire!”

“Fifth
Company! Open fire!”

The
first volley tore into the side of the nomad wedge, and scores of nomads went
down. The second volley was almost as well-timed, and equally effective. While
the third and fourth shots from the company appeared equally effective, the
differing rates of individual fire resulted in an almost continuous stream of
fire.

Despite
the casualties, the nomads kept coming, and the wings of the wedge were now
less than a hundred yards from Alucius.

“Twenty-first
Company! Re-form! Tight formation! Re-form!” Alucius quickly reloaded then
slipped the rifle he had used into the holder. Both were loaded, if he had a
chance to use them again.

“Fifth
Company! Re-form!”

Alucius
glanced up, briefly to see one of the pteridons circling well to the west of
the battle, then drop rapidly and swoop toward the center of the Deforyan line
from the rear, blue flame blazing. Then he had to concentrate on the oncoming
nomads. He pulled out his sabre.

“Twenty-first
Company! Charge!”

The
tight formation was a smaller wedge, with Alucius at the point of the wedge.
Sabre out, he concentrated on both the nomads and creating the image that his
company was larger, and more deadly than anything the nomads had seen.

The
first nomad nearing Alucius turned straight toward him. Alucius didn’t turn
Wildebeast, not until the very last moment, when he twisted in the saddle and
struck. The nomad had tried the same thing, but hadn’t expected the turn to the
left, and took a slash across his left shoulder and throat.

After
that Alucius let Wildebeast and his training work for him, concentrating only
on keeping moving. His left arm felt like lead, and he had the feeling there
were bruises everywhere under the nightsilk undergarments.

Then,
abruptly, he was riding across open grassland.

He
glanced back. Most of Twenty-first Company had broken through the wing of the
nomads, and the nomads had continued onward. The tight spacing of the troopers
had worked. Twenty-first Company was behind the main nomad formation.

“Twenty-first
Company. To the rear and hold.” The hold was just to make sure everyone
re-formed in place, ready to head back toward the fight. “Forward, fast trot!”

Alucius
glanced to his right. Fifth Company had also managed to break through, although
it looked as though they had suffered more casualties.

As
the two Northern Guard companies rode northward—back toward the center of the
battle, Alucius could see what Aellyan Edyss had planned. The Deforyans had
thrown all the reserves into the center. That had broken the force of the nomad
charge—or rather the nomads had let it break their force—because they had
completely encircled the majority of the defenders, with the clear intent of
killing them all. And now, the pteridons were swooping into the center of the
battle, and blue flames were consuming Deforyan lancers by the score. The
closeness of the battle limited where pteridons could strike, but the pattern
was deadly. The pteridons were hitting the middle of the Deforyan, where the
lancers could scarcely move, and the nomads on the outside were cutting down
those who tried to flee from the fires of the skylances.

As
he rode, Alucius looked to his left, finally locating Longyl, easing Wildebeast
toward the senior squad leader. “We’re going to wheel to a line fifty yards
short of them and stop. Then we’re going to shoot as many of them as we can.”

Longyl
nodded, almost grimly.

About
a hundred yards short of the ill-defined rear of the nomad force, Alucius
called out his orders. “Twenty-first Company! Wheel to firing line and halt! To
a firing line and halt!”

The
line was uneven, but spaced.

“Rifles
ready! Prepare to fire. Open fire!”