Darknesses (27 page)

Alucius
aimed the heavy rifle and fired…again and again. Then he reloaded.

So
intent were the nomads on hacking their way to and through the Deforyans that
Alucius and Twenty-first Company and Feran and Fifth Company reloaded twice
before what appeared to be a body of nomads close to five companies in size
began to break away from the main nomad force.

“Target
the nomads to the south! To the south!”

Twenty-first
Company responded. A round of withering fire slashed through the attackers,
then a second. At that point, Fifth Company turned its rifles on the nomads who
were urging their mounts toward the two Northern Guard companies.

“Rifles
away. Sabres out! Prepare to charge. Tight formation!”

Against
the remaining nomads, although outnumbered, Twenty-first Company was through
the nomad formation quickly. Alucius glanced back, but the nomads had not turned,
and those remaining were engaged in a one-on-one melee with Fifth Company.

“Twenty-first
Company! Halt!”

The
survivors came to an abrupt and uneven halt.

“Hold
position.”

Alucius
sheathed the sabre and pulled out the rifle, reloading as quickly as he could.
Unless he could do something against the pteridons, everything was lost. It
might be anyway, but he had to try.

“Form
around the overcaptain, rifles out!” Longyl snapped.

Alucius
turned to the north…watching, waiting. There were four pteridons. One, clearly
larger than the other three, circled higher than they did, and was not
attacking the Deforyans. Alucius waited until he could see one of the lower
pteridons swoop from the northwest.

He
raised the heavy rifle, investing the bullet of the cartridge in the chamber
with darkness.

Crack!

The
shot was true, and the pteridon shriveled, then tumbled out of the sky,
striking the grass to the west of Twenty-first Company with enough force that
the ground shook, even though the beast was a good half vingt away.

Flames
flared into the sky, and a powerful gust of hot air swept across Alucius.

“Target
those riders to the north!” Longyl ordered. “Fire!”

Alucius
forced himself to ignore the oncoming riders, waiting for the next pteridon.

Once
more, he concentrated and fired…and missed, as the pteridon wheeled just as he
squeezed the trigger. He fired again, and again. The fourth shot struck the
beast’s wing, and it shuddered and slowed. Alucius took the second rifle and
forced himself to infuse the next bullet with more darkness as he targeted the
slow-moving blue-winged creature.

Still,
it took two more shots before the pteridon and rider went down, crashing into
the edge of the western wing of the nomad forces.

The
ensuing explosion scattered and maimed hundreds of nomads, but the formation
continued to tighten on the trapped Deforyans.

While
Alucius was reloading both rifles, the third pteridon swooped, spraying blue
death across hundreds of Deforyans, and was back beyond range before Alucius
was ready.

Now
what?

Both
pteridons were circling higher than Alucius would have liked to shoot.

“You
have to try, sir!” Longyl called. “You have to!”

Alucius
took a deep breath, then raised the heavy rifle.

He
fired four times, and missed.

Could
he add Talent-power to the cartridges? He had to do something.

Carefully,
oh so carefully, he visualized a long purple line from the chamber through the
muzzle and straight to the lower pteridon.

Crack!

Purple
flared across his vision, and he blinked, his eyes watering.

A
bluish purple fireball exploded, raining flames down on the nomads and Deforyan
Lancers below, but mostly on the nomads.

Alucius
could barely see.

“You
can do it, sir! You have to do it!” Longyl called.

Have
to? Alucius swayed in the saddle, then deliberately changed rifles, forcing
himself to ignore the nomads who were riding toward Twenty-first Company.

He
had to get the last pteridon. The last one…somehow. The last pteridon was even
higher. He could manage…he could…he needed the same sort of darkness that he
had used to strangle the purple crystal of the Matrial.

Ever
so slowly, Alucius raised the rifle, again extending that purplish line of
power, underlining it with the greenish darkness he had used against the
crystal. Slowly, aiming, sighting, Alucius
willed
the bullet to strike the pteridon carrying Aellyan Edyss, for the rider on that
last pteridon could be no other, even before he squeezed the trigger.

As
green and black and purple flared across his eyes, leaving him momentarily
blind, as the bullet struck the pteridon with an impact that Alucius himself
felt, rocking back in his saddle, blue fire flared outward from the pteridon
and its rider in all directions.

As
Alucius’s vision cleared, silence covered the entire battlefield for a long
moment, and the silver-green sky above it, as though time itself had halted.
The pteridon seemed frozen, motionless, in the heavens, glimmering in the white
light of the midday sun.

Then…jagged
shards of purpled black replaced the pteridon and rider, shards that sprayed in
all directions. Alucius stared, immobilized, as he could see purple shards
flying toward him, toward the troopers of Twenty-first Company who had
protected him, sheltered him, to allow him to strike at the pteridons.

He
couldn’t let the troopers die. He couldn’t.

He
tried to gather the sense of dark greenness, the shieldlike feeling that went
with it, but his thoughts were like molasses in winter, like glue already
hardening, and he could feel curtains of blue fire—so hot that his hair was
crisping—flaming around him.

Alucius
made a last desperate effort to weld a shield of green around his troopers, but
a blast of air slammed into him, into Wildebeast. He could feel them both
toppling backward, and he was unable to get clear of the saddle.

As
he was flattened by the blast, green did rise around him, a greenness infused
with blackness, a blackness that swept across him and carried him away.

Northeast
of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

T
he
two herders rode
on opposite sides of the flock, Wendra to the east and
just behind the lead nightrams, and Royalt to the west and to the rear of the
straggling ewes.

Wendra
frowned, and her eyes lifted to the Aerlal Plateau. She shook her head. For an
instant, just an instant, had the quartz crystal outcroppings flared green? She
studied the Plateau, but could not see any remnant of that greenish light—if
there had been any green flare.

Then,
as the darkness struck her, she reined up the gray gelding, her face pale. She
glanced at her hand, then stripped off the heavy herder’s glove. The black
crystal of her ring remained alive, and she could sense the energy there. But
there was a sense of pain—of agony.

For
a time, she just looked at the crystal.

Wendra
was still looking at it when Royalt turned his mount and rode around the rear
of the flock to join her.

“Alucius?”
he asked.

“Alucius…he’s
been hurt, or wounded,” the brown-haired woman explained. “I thought there was
a flash of green from the Plateau, and then I could feel the darkness, but it
was almost as though I’d been burned.”

“Burned?”
Royalt’s weathered face tightened into an expression of worry.

“That’s
the way it felt—like fire had washed over me. For a moment, I could smell hair
burning.” Her lips tightened.

“He’s
alive, though?”

“He
is,” she confirmed.

“Just
pray to the One Who Is,” Royalt said slowly.

“And
the soarers,” Wendra added.

“You
think he’s a soarer’s child?”

“He’s
always been one.”

“That’s
what Lucenda said.” Royalt shook his head. “Don’t know about that, but it can’t
hurt.”

Wendra
glanced at the ring, warmer than it had been, and then slipped the herders’
gloves back in place. Her eyes lifted to the Aerial Plateau once more, and her
lips moved, silently.

A
lucius
lay on a bed of blue flame,
unable to move, and a dark-haired and
alabaster-skinned man with deep violet eyes stood over him, speaking in a
resonant voice. Alucius tried to make out the words, but their meaning eluded
him.

The
man spoke again, patiently, and still his words meant nothing to Alucius.

Alucius
strained, concentrating on each word, knowing that each one was important, that
he had to know what the alabaster-skinned man was saying, or that he would be
doomed forever. But the man vanished in a curtain of blue flame.

Someone
groaned, and he was the one groaning. His skin was on fire once more, and waves
of redness washed over him.

A
shadowy figure placed something cool upon his forehead, and he wanted to thank
the person, but he could not, as he was swept away by darkness.

Abruptly,
he was standing in a pink-lit chamber, facing a purple crystal that began to
spin, faster, then even faster. From the whirling crystal came spears,
crystalline spears that were tinged with pink, and tipped with fire.

With
each spear that struck him, he winced, and each wince hurt more than the last,
until his entire body was a mass of flame.

Beside
the spinning crystal reappeared the alabaster-skinned man. His smile was no
longer sympathetic, but cold and condescending. He spoke again.

His
words tumbled out, each one a pinkish block that floated toward Alucius, and
Alucius tried to grasp one, but his fingers closed on emptiness.

With
a sad and simultaneously disdainful expression, the alabaster-skinned man
vanished.

In
his place, between Alucius and the crystal, appeared the blocky form of a
sander, and the crystals in his skin glittered greenish black. He lifted a hand
and struck the spinning crystal. Purple-black fragments sprayed everywhere.
Each, as it struck the chamber wall or Alucius, transmuted into a puff of
purple smoke that immediately vanished.

The
sander looked at Alucius. He had no mouth, but he spoke, nonetheless.
He said that you should have found a Table. He thinks you would
have understood. He is wrong, but that is something you must discover for
yourself.

Then
a golden green radiance filled the featureless chamber, and a soarer appeared,
delicate, finely formed, especially in comparison to the blocky sander. With
the green light that washed over Alucius, the flames that flickered from his
body died away, as did the agony.

This
time, the darkness that washed over him was cool and comforting.

Tempre,
Lanachrona

T
he
pale-faced Recorder of Deeds
stood back from the Table of the Recorders
slightly, watching as the Lord-Protector observed the scene displayed before
him.

“You
see,” gestured the Recorder. “There are the dark uniforms of the Northern
Guards, and two companies break through Aellyan Edyss’s hordes. That silver
emptiness there? That is your herder captain. Notice how many bodies fall
before him.”

“So?
He has always been effective in battle. That is why we sent him.” A tone of
annoyance crept into the younger man’s voice.

“Yes,
Lord-Protector. I only ask that you watch closely.”

The
two men studied the image in the Table, noting the charge by the two companies,
then the wheel to a firing line and the carnage as they shot hundreds of nomads
from behind. At the same time, the nomads hacked down hundreds of Deforyans,
pushing them even more tightly together while blue flames incinerated hundreds
of lancers in red in the center of the compressed Deforyan formation. Slowly, a
loosely grouped wedge of nomads formed and charged the outnumbered Northern
Guards, who had avoided the encirclement. The southernmost company formed into
a tighter wedge and rode through the nomads, scattering and killing scores
before re-forming, this time into a circle around the shimmering and shifting
silver—sometimes a circle, sometimes an oval.

“Now…if
you would,” the Recorder said, “watch most closely.” He surreptitiously blotted
perspiration from his forehead. His violet-shaded eyes darkened.

“I
am
watching.”

Even
from the view afforded by the Table, it was clear that something unseen had
struck the ground, flattening a broad circle of nomads, and instantly charring
them and hundreds of others. Farther to the northeast, another such circle of
destruction followed, and then, after a time, a third and even larger circle of
similar destruction. Abruptly, hundreds if not a good thousand nomads turned
southward and charged raggedly toward the small company of Northern Guards in
the circular formation. Just as the nomads were within yards of the Northern
Guards, an enormous flare of blue suffused the entire image in the Table,
instantly turning black wide sections of riders, but leaving the two circles of
Northern Guards untouched—except for a single point of blackness in the center
of the Northern Guard formation to the south.

“What…”
murmured the Lord-Protector, “what did he do?”

“That…that
I cannot say for certain, but it appears that each blackened circle was the
destruction of a pteridon and where it fell. I would surmise that the last was
the death of Aellyan Edyss and the pteridon he rode.”

“That
last fall killed all the nomads around them…thousands of them.” As the Table
blanked back to silver, the Lord-Protector turned to the Recorder. “You say
that he survived that?”

“It
is most likely, but I can only infer that from what the Table shows. It shows
an empty bed, where silver shifts and where people bring food, and watch, and
sometimes talk. Their expressions have changed. First, they were silent, and
some of the officers were worried. Now, they talk openly.”

“That
means he will live, but it does not mean more.”

“The
nomads have withdrawn, all the way to Illegea, and they are making their way to
Lyterna, where they will select new warleaders and a new ruler. They would not
have done so had the impact not been truly devastating. Even now, the grass is
blackened across most of the battlefield.”

“What
of the pteridons?”

“I
cannot be absolutely certain, but…it appears that there are no more.”

The
Lord-Protector laughed, openly and triumphantly. “You see, Recorder. I was
right. Our Talent-weapon broke theirs, and he destroyed all their pteridons.
Now, should the nomads attack Lanachrona, they will fall to our Southern
Guard.” He paused. “What of the majer and the company of Southern Guards?”

“I
cannot find any trace of Majer Draspyr or Captain Clifyr. They are most
certainly dead.”

“It
is to be regretted, but they served nobly, and one company is not too high a
price to pay for such a victory.” After a moment, the Lord-Protector added,
“The Northern Guard must have suffered great casualties.”

“It
would appear so. They are far from full strength.”

“That
is good, also. There will be fewer to cause trouble in the years to come.” The
Lord-Protector nodded to himself. “And Overcaptain Alucius will be most happy
to return to being a herder. We will send a fast messenger requesting that he
return his companies to Dekhron…” The Lord-Protector broke off his words. “I
will wager that the Landarch will request that the honored overcaptain bring
his companies back to Lanachrona long before our messenger could possibly reach
him.”

“You
think so, Lord-Protector?”

“The
Landarch may be weak, but he is not a fool. Watch him in the glass and see. We
will send the messenger, and the message, wherever it reaches the good
overcaptain, will request that he present himself to us in Tempre for his
reward. But we should let him bring a squad with him, so that he does not feel
as if he is a prisoner. What reward? Some golds, and an early return with honor
to being a herder.”

“You
would bring him here, Lord-Protector?”

“That
I would. He will see that Tempre is great, and not old and decaying as is
Dereka, or Dekhron, and he will also understand that I can be both terrible and
grateful. I will find some way to suggest that the entire future of the herders
rests on their support of Lanachrona.”

“The
man is not a man. He is a lamaial, and he will bring ruin upon us.”

The
Lord-Protector shook his head. “About this you are wrong. He may indeed be a
lamaial, but he is young, and he has an attractive wife. He wishes to return to
her. We will show our gratitude, but we will make most certain he understands
that our support and forbearance from displacing or taxing the herders lies in
us, and that without my support, there will be no herders.”

The
Recorder started to speak, then stopped, before asking politely, “You think
this wise?”

“If…
if
he is as you say, why would I wish to offend him? If he
is not, then time will show us otherwise, and we may act differently. It may
also be that the One Who Is has used him as He has used others. I would not
offend the One Who Is. Would you?”

“You
do not even believe in Him. You have said so, sir.”

“That
I have, but if He does exist…why offend? Why indeed? If the overcaptain is
somehow favored by fate or unknown powers, with the other enemies we have, I
think it best not to create yet another cause against us. Would you?”

“No,
sir. Not in your position, I would not.”

“Good.”
The Lord-Protector walked toward the archway from the underground marble-walled
room, then turned. “I may want even more from the overcaptain, but I must
consider. He is still a good commander, and far more effective than other
junior commanders. Perhaps a short mission somewhere…we will see. In the
meantime, you will still watch the nomads and the return of the Northern
Guard.”

“Yes,
Lord-Protector. We will watch most closely.”