Darknesses (28 page)

M
ore
than a week passed
before Alucius was fully aware of his surroundings
for more than a few moments at a time. He’d been brought back to Dereka, and
Lancer Prime Post, but he’d been placed in a large ground-floor chamber
reserved for submarshals, and he’d seen the first women—except on the
streets—since coming to Deforya. Those nursing him were older women, who smiled
encouragingly and said little. At times, he thought he had felt the greenish
radiance, but he was never certain, and when he looked, it was gone.

Alucius
was propped up in a large bed, set opposite wide windows opening on a smaller
rear paved courtyard that always seemed empty. A light breeze from the windows
brought the mixed scents of cooking.

There
were no mirrors in the chamber, and the nurses had only removed the bandages
from his face the day before. Someone had undressed him long since, and his
nightsilk undergarments had been washed and pressed, then hung in the large
armoire. He wore a nightshirt of soft cotton.

From
what he could see, his arms and chest were covered with healing bruises of
mottled and faded purple and yellow, and even the slightest movements still
hurt slightly. The skin on the back of his hands was peeling away, and there
was a layer of pinker skin beneath. His hair had either been cut or burned
away, because all he could feel was stubble on the top of his head, as well as
on his face.

Feran
was the first visitor he was allowed.

“You
look much better.” Feran grinned.

“I
don’t think…want to know what I looked like.” Alucius’s throat was dry, no
matter how much of the ale on the table beside the bed he drank. Speaking
remained hard. “What happened…the nomads?”

“You
saw…you saw what happened with the last pteridon…well…that was Aellyan Edyss,
so far as we could figure. That explosion killed most of his warleaders.
Couldn’t tell how many nomads, but at least half of them. The Deforyans turned
and attacked, and the nomads pulled back and rode south to Illegea.”

“Just…like
that?”

“Submarshal
Ahorak—he didn’t want to talk to me, but he couldn’t talk to you—he said that
it had to do with how the nomads rule. The warleaders have to chose their
ruler, and so many of the warleaders died…. Something like that. We’re not
complaining.”

“What
about…Twenty-first Company?” Alucius feared the worst.

“Squads
on the wings got hit the hardest, first and fifth squads.”

“How
hard?” Alucius tried to sit up, more, but the blackness and the dizziness
threatened to overwhelm him.

“You’ve
got sixty troopers left. Egyl’s holding them together pretty well.”

“Egyl?
Longyl…?”

“The
nomads got him just before the fires got them. I didn’t see what happened. No
one did,” Feran said. “Everything around Twenty-first Company got
blasted…turned to cinders. Think that as much as anything decided the nomads to
go back to Illegea.”

Alucius
managed the smallest of nods. “Fifth Company?”

“We
were far enough from you that only a couple of troopers got burned, but we lost
a bunch before that. I’ve got forty-five left.”

“What…the
others?”

“The
majer and pretty much all of Twenty-third Company were wiped out. Two troopers
left. I put them in Fifth Company. Half of Third Company, but Heald didn’t make
it, and less than a third of Eleventh Company. Koryt scraped through. Left
arm’s broken, and a bad slash on his thigh. Looks like he’ll make it. Until
he’s better, Heald’s senior squad leader’s running both Third and Eleventh.”
Feran shook his head. “No one thought you’d make it. Uniform was burned off
you. Women tending you said that you didn’t have a span of skin that wasn’t
either black and bruised or burned—mostly bruised.”

“Herders…are
tough…”

“The
nightsilk helped, but I still think anyone else would have died.”

Alucius
had to lean back on the pillows. “Wildebeast…?”

“That
stallion’s tough, too. Had bruises and cuts, but he’s in better shape than you
are.” Feran smiled. “He’ll be ready to ride home before you will be.”

Alucius
nodded.

“I
told Ahorak that you’d trained your troopers to shoot at flying targets. Told
Egyl too. That’s the way it is.”

“Thank
you…” Alucius whispered.

“Once
you’re better, Landarch wants to give some sort of award, then send us packing.
Think he figures that few as we are, we shouldn’t stay too long.” Feran
straightened. “I’d better go. You still have some healing to do.”

“Thanks…”
Alucius knew he was repeating himself, but couldn’t find anything else to say.

“No.
We owe you the thanks. Every trooper who left that field would have died
without you, and we all know it. All of us are going to make sure that no one
else knows it. That’s the way it’ll be.” Feran smiled. “Just get better. We
want you riding up front again.”

After
Feran left, Alucius looked blankly at the open windows.

A
lucius
stood in a great hall,
the like of which he had never seen before. Above
him, the vaulted ceiling soared at least fifty yards, a ceiling seemingly of
pink marble, fitted together so cunningly that there was not a sign of a join,
or of mortar. The walls were of the same marble. Golden columns flanked the
entryway and were also set into the walls at regular intervals. Deep purple
hangings, trimmed in gold and flowing down from golden brackets anchored in the
columns, framed the marble walls.

After
studying the chamber, Alucius glanced down. The floor was of polished gold and
green marble, each octagonal section of green marble inset with an
eight-pointed star of golden marble, the narrow arms of the star outlined in a
narrow line of golden metal that was neither gold nor brass. Alucius looked up
to see a man appear from nowhere.

The
tall figure had flawless alabaster skin, shimmering black hair, and deep violet
eyes. He stood in the center of one of the golden stars, wearing a tunic of
brilliant green, trimmed in a deep purple, with matching trousers, and black
boots so highly polished that they appeared metallic. Less than two yards from
Alucius, his violet eyes centered on Alucius, and he began to speak.

The
words were deep and resonant, and Alucius understood not a one, although he
felt that he should have.

After
a moment, the man frowned, then spoke again. “You should have understood the
ancient tongue. It may be that, being who you are, you cannot acknowledge that
you do.”

“Acknowledge?”
Alucius felt like a child, where everyone else was talking about matters he was
expected to know…and didn’t. “I’m just a herder and an overcaptain.”

The
alabaster-skinned man laughed. “Already, you have destroyed two far greater
than you say you are, and you are just a herder? The Lord-Protector knows you
better than you know yourself. Why else would he pick an unknown captain and
send him against the largest mass of nomads in generations? And how else could
you triumph were you not greater than you say you are?”

“Luck,
and skill, and being able to take advantage of their weaknesses,” Alucius
replied firmly.

“It
takes more than luck and skill to be a child of the Duarchy…or to best one. You
cannot long hide what you are, not in a world of petty and jealous men. Yet…if
you continue to act as you are, you will not be the hero who restores the dual
scepter and the prosperity of the Duarchy, but the ill-fated lamaial. And if
you would be lamaial, you will suffer because you stand against the dual
scepter. Few will know the suffering that you will.”

Then,
Alucius found himself in a darkened chamber, one where the ancient eternastone
walls began to move, closing in…tighter…and tighter…

He
sat up in the large bed, shivering, his nightshirt damp with sweat. After a
moment, he blotted his steaming face, but gently, because his skin was still
tender. He sat in the darkness for a time, wondering why he had dreamed once
more of the violet-eyed man.

Finally,
Alucius eased sideways on the damp sheets until he was again between cotton
sheets that were dry and cool. After a time, he dozed off again.

Before
long, he found himself in his Northern Guard uniform, riding Wildebeast,
digging his heels into the stallion’s flanks, urging his mount forward.

Ahead
was a pteridon, its rider spraying blue light and flame from the metallic blue
skylance across Twenty-third Company. The pteridon and the wall of blue flames
were sweeping toward Third Company.

Alucius
raised his rifle and tried to aim and fire as he rode, knowing he did not have
time to stop and fire, that he had to reach the pteridon quickly. But the
flames swept inexorably over the troopers, and the blue-winged pteridon wheeled
toward Alucius, so close that Alucius could see the white face and the dark
hair of the rider as he aimed his skylance at Alucius and Wildebeast.

Flashes
of blue light flared past Alucius, and he could feel his own hair
crisping…smell it. Behind him, mounts screamed as they were enveloped in flame.

He
sat up, soaked in sweat, despite the cooler night breeze coming through the
half-open windows.

He
recalled the words of the man with the alabaster complexion in the dream. “If
you would be lamaial, you will suffer because you stand against the dual
scepter.”

Lamaial?
The legendary character out of the past? What did that have to do with him? He
was a herder. Or an officer in the Northern Guard who just wanted to finish his
obligation and go back to his stead.

Alucius
recalled as well the threat from the man in the dream—that he would suffer as
few had. He certainly didn’t want to suffer, or to have his family suffer, but
he had no idea what he was supposed to do to avoid such suffering. Was doing
what he believed to be right standing against the dual scepter? He couldn’t
believe that his dreams or thoughts were telling him that he was supposed to
have let the Matrial strangle men and women through their lifewebs. Or that he
was supposed to have let the pteridons and their riders burn thousands of
troopers to death and overrun Dereka and whatever other lands and cities might
follow.

And…besides
being the symbol of the ancient Duarchy, long since vanished, what was the dual
scepter? The dream figure had suggested it was more, but Alucius, for all his
travels and reading, had never run across any references to the dual scepter
except as a symbol of the Duarchy, or as a reference to someone’s ambition to
be a great ruler.

And
why was Alucius dreaming of such a figure, with the alabaster skin? Outside of
a fleeting glance of the Matrial, a glance he had never been certain he had
actually made, he had never seen someone with the violet eyes and alabaster
skin. Nor had he ever read of such.

Still…the
dream figure had raised one interesting question. Why
had
the Lord-Protector picked out Alucius—or any of the others? What did the
Lord-Protector know?

Alucius
sat up in the bed for almost a glass, pondering, before he dared to try to
sleep once more. As he finally drifted off, he held his thoughts firmly on
Wendra.

Tempre,
Lanachrona

T
he
Lord-Protector and his consort
sat on opposite sides of the table in the
small private dining room. After taking a last morsel of the plumapple mousse
and savoring it, he set down the ancient silver spoon.

“Your
thoughts are beyond the river, dear,” she said with a laugh. “As they often are
these days.”

“Ah,
my dear Alerya, you know me too well.” His brown eyes focused on her, and he
smiled warmly. “It is good that we are married. You would be a danger
otherwise.”

“Nonsense.
I’d not know you in the slightest, and so would be none at all.” She sipped the
amber dessert wine. “What concerns you now?”

“Enyll…there
is something about him,” mused the Lord-Protector.

“There
has always been something about him,” suggested his consort.

“No…something
different. Before…he was always present, even when I did not wish to see him,
always pressing to tell me something he had discovered or thought he might.
Now, I seldom see him, unless I visit the Table chamber.”

“He
is hiding something.”

“Yes.
But what?” asked Talryn. “I have had the best spies search his chambers, his
papers. I have had him watched every moment of his day, waking and sleeping.
All that he does is reported.” The Lord-Protector shook his head. “From all
this, what do I discover? That he spends more and more time with the Table.”

“Then,”
she suggested, “whatever he is concealing is hidden within the Table.”

“And
how can I discover what that might be? I know of none who has the Talent to
utilize the Table, save him. And even if I did, would they be any more
trustworthy than he is?”

“Perhaps
the Table has revealed something he wishes not to disclose. Or, could it be
that all the use of the Table has changed him?”

“Either
might well be, and where does that leave us? Would the same occur to anyone
else, even if we could find another Recorder?”

“Keep
watching him, but treat him as though nothing at all has changed. If he has
indeed changed, then there will be some action that will provide you a clue as
to his thoughts and desires. It may be that, as he is aging—”

“I
wonder…”

“You
wonder what, dearest?” asked Alerya.

“Nothing…”

“With
you, it is never nothing.”

He
laughed. “No. You are right, but it is a feeling, and I would not say more
until I have seen and thought more upon it.”

She
frowned.

“You
disagree?”

“No.
I can understand how you feel, especially as Lord-Protector.” She paused. “I
give great credence to feelings. If you do not wish to speak of such, because
you cannot find the words to match what you feel, that is well and good.
But…act upon the feelings, if need be, even if you cannot find the words that
would reason why.”

“Most
would caution the opposite,” he said slowly.

“Most
are fools,” she replied. “More often than not, men reason themselves into
difficulties more than they reason themselves out of.”

“Need
we talk more of reason?” he asked, standing from the table and glancing toward
the door to their bedchamber.

She
shook her head, affectionately, then rose and took his hand.