Darknesses (37 page)

Once
inside the main building, Gueryl led the way up a wide stone staircase. “Your
quarters are on the third level on the west end. The sitting room has a direct
view of the Lord-Protector’s palace and of the towers.”

The
mention of quarters with a sitting room didn’t ease Alucius’s concerns in the
slightest, not when he recalled Feran’s warning about the Lord-Protector
wanting something.

At
the third level, they turned left, past a pair of Southern Guards, with blue
braid on their shoulders, similar to that worn by Gueryl. As the two officers
continued down the marble-floored corridor, Alucius picked up the faint murmurs
from the two guards.

“Overcaptain…on
this level?”

“…more
than that, they say…big hero…saved the whole eastern expedition…routed the
nomads…”

“…some
honor…”

“…nomads
broken through…would have had to send scores of companies east…maybe you…”

There
was only a grunt in return.

Was
the Lord-Protector overcommitted? With too many forces in the west? Alucius’s
lips quirked into a smile. Was that just human nature? To reach for more than
you had the ability to hold against adversity?

Gueryl
stopped at the very last set of doors—golden oak double doors that shimmered
with polish and care. After producing a shining brass key, he opened the lock
and door, then presented the key to Alucius.

Inside
was a small foyer, the floor tiled in blue and gold. Beyond the foyer, through
a square archway, was a sitting room a good ten yards in width and fifteen in
length, the long side containing three side-by-side wide windows, offering a
view of the Lord-Protector’s golden cream palace. In the sitting room were a
dark blue upholstered settee, two matching armchairs, an imposing carved
fruitwood desk set against the north wall, with an equally imposing and
matching carved desk chair. Five wall lamps were spaced around the chamber, and
in the center was a dark blue carpet bearing a design of intertwined
eight-pointed green stars, outlined in gold.

“The
bedchamber is this way…”

Roughly
five yards by ten, the bedroom was only small by comparison to the sitting
room. It also had a view of the palace, and a high triple-width bed and two
matching armoires. Alucius set down his saddlebags and laid the rifles on the
weapons rack, then followed Gueryl to the next doorway. Beyond the bedchamber
was a bathchamber with a tub carved out of an oblong marble block, and with two
spigots, both of shimmering bronze.

After
showing the bathchamber to Alucius, the captain returned to the sitting room.
Alucius followed.

“You’ll
need your uniforms cleaned, of course. To summon the orderly, just use the
bellpull here. If you let them know tonight, they can have them cleaned and
pressed before noon tomorrow.”

“That
would be helpful,” Alucius said politely.

“Now…I
doubt I will see you again, sir, but it has been a pleasure. Majer Keiryn will
be here in about two glasses to escort you to dinner. I had not realized that
it was to be with the marshals. If there is any change, either I or the majer
will let you know.”

“Thank
you. You have been most helpful.”

“My
pleasure, sir.” Gueryl bowed, then departed.

Once
the door was closed, Alucius walked back into the sitting room and to the
windows. The two on each end were open, and a faint cool breeze rustled through
the chamber. For a time he stood there, not really seeing the palace,
considering.

The
captain had been truthful in all that he had said. So, from what Alucius could
determine, had the marshal. While the captain certainly had not been told what
his superiors did not wish revealed, the apparent truthfulness of the marshal,
and his casual mention of what had happened in Dereka were a powerful message.
That message had been delivered with understated and great impact.

Amid
the luxury of his guest quarters, Alucius still wondered what the
Lord-Protector wanted.

Prosp,
Lustrea

V
estor
studied
the waist-high black lorken cube that bore a shimmering mirror
surface, bordered in lorken as well. The smooth-finished wooden sides continued
downward another third of a yard beneath the stone floor and rested directly on
the granite bedrock. The floor of the small chamber, less than ten yards
square, had been completed around the cube in green marble tiles scavenged from
the ruins beyond the center of Prosp. The wall columns and facings had come
from other ruins, although the color of the marble matched. The roof over the
chamber had been completed just the day before, and little else of the
structure that surrounded the chamber had been finished, save for that roof and
the outer walls.

Vestor
glanced at the polished surface of the Table once more, one of the components
that had been fabricated far earlier than the Praetor had known. He took a look
toward the unfinished marble archway before extracting the sheet of parchment
that had come from the Praetorian archives, then the newer matching sheet that
he had created before he had left Alustre many weeks before.

Laying
a sheet on each side of the mirror surface, he bent down and extracted a small
assembly of crystals from the case at his feet and set the assembly in the
middle of the Table. He studied the sheets, and readjusted one of the crystals,
then another. Finally, he took the ancient device that resembled a light-torch
from his tunic, readjusting the focus on the discharge end.

After
a moment of studying the ancient manuscript, then the newer one, he took a deep
breath and flicked on the modified light-torch, focusing it on the prismlike
receptor crystal.

A
web of ruby light flashed from the assembly—which vanished. Then a series of
patterned interlocking lights flared across the mirror surface, burning into
the flat crystal before disappearing. The lorken cube shivered ever so
slightly, as if minutely aligning itself and settling into the granite below.

For
a long moment, there was silence.

Then,
from the mirror surface rose a thin tendril of silver mist, followed by a
second tendril, of ruby. Both thickened into cablelike—or
serpentlike—tentacles.

With
a frown, Vestor stepped back from the roiling silver and the ruby mist
tentacles that reached upward, but the twin coils of roiling silver and ruby
mist swirled out of the Table and into the chamber, entwining themselves around
the Praetorian engineer before he could take another step backward.

“No…no!”
Then, seemingly against his will, Vestor’s mouth closed abruptly, and he stood
two yards back from the Table, swaying, as if in a struggle against an unseen
enemy.

The
twin mists suffused his body, slowly vanishing.

Vestor
stood stock-still for a time.

One
of the Praetorian Guards stepped through the uncompleted marble archway. “Sir…I
heard something. Are you all right?”

Vestor
straightened, brushing his tunic, and offering a smile. “I was just surprised.
I’m fine. I haven’t felt this good in years. Many years.”

“That’s
good, sir.” The guard stepped back quickly.

Vestor
smiled sardonically and looked down at the new and fully functioning Table of
the Recorders, murmuring to himself. “He created it well, indeed he did. With
three, now we can begin.”

He
stepped forward to the Table.

M
ajer
Keiryn—tall and redheaded
—had indeed arrived almost precisely two glasses
after the departure of Captain Gueryl. He had escorted Alucius down two levels
and to the eastern end of the headquarters building to a private dining room,
empty when they stepped into it. The single circular table was covered in a
shimmering white linen, with blue linen napkins. Each of the four places was
set with silver cutlery, platters and plates of cream porcelain rimmed in gold
and blue, and with two goblets set before each of the four diners. On a side
table were several bottles of wine in the amber bottles.

“The
marshals should be joining us shortly, I’m certain.” Keiryn paused. “Your
exploits have created quite a stir, you know. It’s not often that an
overcaptain takes command and wins a massed battle with hundreds of companies.
And even less often that Talent-creatures like pteridons are involved.”

“It
was as much a matter of luck as anything,” Alucius lied.

“I
doubt that luck had much to do with it. According to Marshal Wyerl, you have
seldom if ever lost a fight, and you have more combat experience than almost
any officer in Corus today.”

“I
have fought more than I would have wished, but I am certain there are other
officers equally experienced—” Alucius stopped as the door to the dining room
opened, and two men in Southern Guard uniforms stepped inside.

The
majer stepped forward. “Marshals…”

“Good
evening, Majer,” said Alyniat, easing forward and inclining his head to
Alucius, “Overcaptain.” He half turned to the older and slightly shorter
marshal. “Marshal Wyerl, I’d like to present Overcaptain Alucius of the
Northern Guard.”

Alyniat’s
blond hair, Alucius could see now that he was closer, was as much silver as
blond, and there was a web of fine wrinkles radiating from his eyes. Wyerl’s
short-cut hair was irregularly mixed silver and brown, and despite the dark
circles under his eyes, the man radiated a youthful charm.

“I
have wanted to meet you for quite some time, Overcaptain Alucius.” Wyerl
offered a truly boyish smile. “You have a fearsome reputation.”

“I
can do little about what others say, Marshal.” Alucius inclined his head. “I
fear that they have made me into something that I am not.”

“That
is true of all who fight for a living and survive.” Wyerl laughed softly, then
motioned to the table. “We might as well be seated.”

The
two marshals sat across from each other, with Alucius facing Majer Keiryn. No
sooner were all seated than two orderlies appeared and immediately poured a
pale amber wine from one of the bottles into the smaller goblet in front of
each officer.

Wyerl
lifted his goblet. “To our guest.”

“With
my gratitude for your hospitality,” Alucius replied, lifting his own goblet.

The
wine seemed excellent to Alucius, although he was well aware that his
experience in judging such was most limited.

The
orderlies vanished and reappeared to set a small plate atop the one before each
diner. On the small plate was a pastry no more than the width of three fingers.
Alucius watched, and then used his fork to take a small and flaky section.
Whatever was inside was warm, and both sweet and spicy at the same time, with
an overtaste of butter and something else that he did not recognize.

“Do
you like the charysa?” asked Alyniat.

“It’s
good. I’ve never had it before,” Alucius admitted.

“Like
most officers, I’ll wager he’ll eat almost anything first and judge afterward,”
suggested Wyerl. “I’d also wager there’s little he doesn’t like.”

“Only
honeyed prickle slices,” Alucius admitted.

“I
cannot say I’ve heard of that,” Alyniat ventured.

“It’s
a cactus that grows in the quarasote lands. To me, it tastes like oil and
sawdust, but it was a family favorite. After eating that growing up…” Alucius
shrugged expressively.

The
marshals laughed. After the slightest of hesitations, so did Keiryn.

“How
was the fare in Dereka?” asked Wyerl.

“Mostly
troopers’ fare, except for the one banquet for officers hosted by the Landarch.
That was plains antelope with a plumapple sauce. It was good.”

“Never
had that,” mused Alyniat.

The
plates that had held the charysa were whisked away, and replaced by greenery
lightly covered with oil and grated cheese and nuts. The dressing tasted like
an almond oil.

“You
should enjoy the next dish,” suggested Wyerl.

Alucius
even recognized it—feral hog—lightly seasoned with peppers and accompanied by
apple slices quick-fried and cut like lace potatoes.

“The
guard offers a bounty on the wild hogs,” Alyniat said. “Too many of them, and
they rip up the bottomland crops. So we offer a silver for each one that’s
fresh. The stead holders get paid for doing what benefits them, and we get some
good meat.”

“How
does it compare to the plains antelope?” asked Wyerl.

“It’s
good. They’re different. They’re both too rich to eat all the time,” Alucius
said.

“Not
for the Landarch, I’d wager. Doesn’t his palace date back?”

“It’s
built of gold eternastone. I’d guess that means it was built before the
Cataclysm,” Alucius acknowledged.

“You
had said that the Landarch actually decorated the courtyard walls of his palace
with nomad breastplates?” asked Marshal Wyerl.

Alucius
had indeed, but to no one in Tempre. “He had that done, sir. I
counted—estimated, really—that there were more than three thousand on the walls
in the front courtyard. His submarshal said that there were as many in the rear
courtyard, but those I did not actually see.”

“Six
thousand dead. Really quite an achievement, don’t you think?” Wyerl looked to
Alyniat. “And killing pteridons, as well.”

“Without
all that much help from the Deforyans, I’d imagine.” Alyniat looked squarely at
Alucius.

“They
did their best,” Alucius temporized.

“Most
of their officers above captain are the sons of the large landowners, aren’t
they?”

“From
what I saw. Their captains are really more like senior squad leaders,” Alucius
admitted. “They seemed better at handling the lancers.”

“What
sort of marksmen are they…?”

“Did
they say anything about where they normally stationed the lancers…?”

As
Wyerl pressed his questions, in between answering, Alucius finished the main
course, and saw his platter noiselessly removed. Next came dessert,
orange-cream in color and molded in an oval with a raised seal upon it—that of
the Southern Guard.

Alucius
took a small bite, and found it sweet, creamy as it looked, and tasting of
almond and orange.

“You’re
a herder by birth, and you’re the heir to your stead, I understand,” said
Alyniat. “Yet you entered the militia as a trooper. Was that not unusual?”

“I
didn’t have a great deal of choice. The Council entered a conscription order,
and I was the only son on the stead. They set the buyout so high that it would
have destroyed the stead.” Alucius understood that the two already knew what he
was telling them, and he had a good idea where the discussion was headed.

“Yet
herder families are reputed to be…shall we say, wealthy,” suggested Wyerl.

Majer
Keiryn exuded quiet bewilderment, and that bothered Alucius more than the
leading questions.

“With
the land and the equipment, many would reckon us well-off,” Alucius admitted,
“but compared to the value of all that it takes to operate a stead and produce
nightsilk, the golds we take in are few indeed. And we must purchase the
solvents from Lanachrona. That requires extra golds for the distance they must
be carried.”

“There
are not many herders, these days, are there?”

“I
don’t know the numbers of people, but I would judge that there are less than a
hundred steads that produce nightsilk, and fewer every year. Most of the steads
in the north and west have been abandoned in the last ten or twenty years.”

“Why
might that be?” asked Wyerl.

Alucius
could tell that question was a divergence, and that the marshal was truly
interested in the answer—beyond the other agenda.

“There
has been less rain over the past generation, according to my grandsire.
Quarasote cannot live where it is too wet, but without some rain, the bushes
will not produce enough new growth for the nightsheep to eat.”

“New
growth?”

“Even
a nightram cannot eat the spines once they are more than a year old. They
harden into spikes that can scratch steel and run right through a man or
mount.”

“Quarasote
is that strong?”

“That
was one reason why the Matrites had trouble, even though they outnumbered us.
They thought that by attacking from the north, where we have few people, they
could sweep down the high road from Soulend.” Alucius smiled. “But the midroad
runs through the quarasote hills and flats. You can’t run a horse through them,
especially an untrained mount. We knew the back trails. I don’t know the exact
numbers, but they lost something like ten companies for every one we lost.”

Wyerl
nodded. “That’s good to know. Still…those lands must be pretty barren…some of
them.”

“Toward
the Westerhills west of Soulend, there aren’t many steads left. It’s been drier
there.”

“There’s
not much room for more expenses, then?”

“No,”
Alucius admitted, waiting.

“So
any higher tariffs on herders could force more of them off their land?”

“Higher
tariffs might well do that,” Alucius admitted.

“Even
to your stead?”

“I
have not seen the accounts in some time.” Alucius shrugged. “My grandsire has
been keeping those.”

“And
your wife is a herder as well?”

“She
comes from a herder family.”

“It
would be a shame to have to give up that heritage.” Wyerl looked to Alyniat.
“Don’t you think so?”

“It
certainly would be.” Alyniat laughed. “We might not get any more officers like
the overcaptain.”

Alucius
relaxed slightly, sensing that the message—or one message—had been delivered.

“I
see that you didn’t like the almorange,” observed Marshal Wyerl, glancing at
Alucius’s empty dessert plate.

“Not
at all, sir. Not at all.”

“It’s
one of my favorites, as well…”

With
those words, and the feeling behind them, Alucius knew that the marshals had
delivered the first message, even if he had no idea exactly what the
Lord-Protector wanted. Did he want Alucius to head an expedition somewhere
else? Attack the Matrites in Dimor? Or lead an effort to take over Deforya?

Or
was it something else altogether?