Darknesses (6 page)

With
Alucius at the point, second squad swept into the back of the raiders. In
moments, most were down, one way or another.

As
he studied the chaos of riders and riderless mounts, and the dead and dying
raiders and troopers, Alucius could sense two riders turning and breaking away,
driving their mounts off the road and across the fields toward the river. With
some of third squad’s troopers covering the road and trying both to stop the
raiders and to corral the surviving mounts of the raiders, Alucius dared not
use his rifle.

“Second
squad! With me!” He urged Wildebeast forward, not looking back, but knowing at
least some troopers would follow.

Less
than halfway to the river, the lagging rider looked over his shoulder, then to
the river, before he abruptly slowed and turned his mount.

Sensing
fully the fatality within the raider—the resignation to death and the desire to
take others with him as he reached for the rifle—Alucius lifted his own weapon,
forced himself to concentrate, and fired. It took three shots before the void
of the raider’s death washed over him.

Within
moments he was past the dead raider’s mount and nearing the snow-covered
underbrush at the edge of the river.

The
single remaining rider had spurred his mount onto the ice of the river.

Alucius
reined up at the edge of the river, quickly changed rifles, and focused all his
will and Talent on the fleeing raider.

Crack!

The
single shot was enough.

Alucius
turned in the saddle to the two nearest troopers. “Skant, Noer…go and bring him
back. We can use the mount if you can catch it, but we’ll need the body and his
rifle.”

“Ah…yes,
sir.”

“I’ll
be back on the road, checking with the squad leaders.” Alucius guided Wildebeast
back uphill, through the crusty snow toward the river road, his herder hearing
taking in the comments from the two.

“…forgot
how good he is with that rifle…”

“…not
even dawn yet…”

“…see
why they tried a night raid…”

“Didn’t
do ’em much good.”

Alucius
wasn’t certain about that. Sometimes, failed raids had purposes, too. He just
hoped that there was some evidence, but the fact that the raiders had all
fought to the death was another indication that they weren’t ordinary brigands.

Faisyn
and Anslym were waiting on the road, overseeing the marshaling of the captured
mounts.

“Did
we lose anyone?” Alucius asked.

“Two,
sir,” answered Faisyn. “Silper and Daern. Gill took a slash, but he’ll be all
right.”

“Sond
took a bullet in his left arm. Shattered the bone,” Anslym reported. “Stopped
the bleeding, but I’m not sure how it’ll heal.”

“Have
you got it splinted?” asked Alucius.

“Best
we could, sir.”

“Any
survivors from the raiders?” In the grayness just before dawn, Alucius looked
from Anslym to Faisyn.

“No,
sir.”

“Did
any others escape?”

“No,
sir,” offered Faisyn. “Can’t find any tracks, and no one saw any except the two
you chased down.”

“We’ll
need to search the bodies. Keep anything that might shed light on who they
were. Then dump them at the edge of the fields to the north—where the
sandwolves can get them.” Alucius looked to Anslym. “I’d like to take a look at
Sond’s arm.”

“He’s
on the north side of the road, there.”

Alucius
and Anslym rode toward the wounded trooper.

Even
before he reined up, Alucius could sense the shattered bone.

“How
are you doing, Sond?”

“Have
to say…hurts, sir.”

Alucius
eased Wildebeast closer to the trooper’s mount. There wasn’t any infection yet,
and the sections of what remained of the bones were lined up. Alucius fingered
the splint, then let a trace of his Talent flow. He looked at the trooper,
struggling to hang on to consciousness. “Looks like it’ll take a while to heal,
but, with luck, you’ll keep the arm.”

“Felt
the bone go, sir.”

“You’ll
make it, Sond.” Alucius projected confidence, then turned. He couldn’t afford
to spend too much Talent that way, but it was unlikely that he’d have to use
his Talent extensively for several days, and he owed what he could give to his
troopers.

“Anslym…detail
someone to ride with him, watch him, and keep him alert.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Alucius
reined up slightly to the north of where the squads had trapped the raiders.
From what he could see, they had not worn uniforms, but with the near-identical
gray woolen riding coats and black winter caps, they might as well have,
although Alucius knew of no troopers in Corus who wore black and gray. He
doubted that there were any.

The
rifles the raiders had used were neither the heavy five-shot weapons used by
the militia nor the lighter ten-shot weapons used by the Matrites. Nor were
they Lanachronan, but something else.

All
the circumstances indicated trouble ahead, and while he guessed the cause of
the trouble lay with the Lord-Protector, it was only a guess. He could hope
that what his troopers were gathering would provide evidence, but he had doubts
that the evidence would point southward. The Lanachronans were far too devious
for that.

He
took a deep breath, feeling the chill, despite the lightening of the sky in the
east with the coming of dawn. The squads still had a ride of several glasses
back to Emal, with all the captured gear—and the wounded.

A
glow that shone through the ground
fog
to the east signified dawn as the second and third squads of
Twenty-first Company formed up to begin the ride back through Tuuler to Emal.
It had taken more than a glass to gather together the fifteen captured mounts,
those that had not scattered, and the weapons and personal effects of the
raiders, but all were packed on the fifteen horses.

“Column
forward!” Alucius ordered.

“Second
squad! Forward!”

“Third
squad…”

Alucius
was more than a little worried. With the weapons they had carried, the riders
they had killed had certainly not been traders. Nor had they carried anything
that would have absolutely identified them. Their wallets had contained coppers
and silvers, but no golds—except for that of one gray-bearded and hard-faced
raider, whose figure and face looked far more like that of a trooper than a
brigand. His wallet had held ten golds—an enormous sum for a raider or a
brigand.

The
young captain looked at the road ahead, a road now covered with hoofprints and
tracks, despite the frozen clay. In places, there were splotches of blood, and
in others, the carcasses of a few horses, too heavy to move easily.

“We
didn’t take that many casualties,” Faisyn said from where he rode on Alucius’s
left. “For raiders, they seemed surprised when we attacked.”

“They
didn’t expect an ambush in the middle of the night,” Anslym pointed out.

“You’re
both right,” Alucius said. “We’re going to stop at the chandlery shop in
Tuuler.” Sensing Faisyn’s puzzlement, he added, “Someone was up and had a fire
going when we passed through, and that was two glasses before dawn.”

“You
think the raiders were headed to get supplies there?”

“We’ll
see.”

As
Alucius and the two squads passed the shed behind which he had set his part of
the ambush and reached the outskirts of Tuuler, he could see the smoke rising
from the chimneys of most of the scattered dwellings. Farther toward the
crossroads, several dwellings had even opened their outer shutters to let light
in, and a woman in a sheepskin jacket was standing on a side porch, throwing a
bucket of water out onto the snow of the side yard. She looked at the riders,
and the black winter riding parkas of the militia, and hurried inside, banging
the empty bucket on the doorframe as she did.

Alucius
looked toward the crossroads ahead, then spoke. “Anslym…take your squad to the
back side of the shop. Have them with their rifles at the ready. I don’t want
anyone leaving.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Third
squad will cover the front, while I go inside,” Alucius told Faisyn. “I’d like
to talk to the chandler.”

“How
many troopers do you want with you?” asked Faisyn.

“Four
should be enough, I’d think, with the squads outside having their rifles at the
ready,” Alucius replied.

“Yes,
sir. Third squad! Rifles ready! First two ranks, dismount and accompany the
captain.”

Just
as third squad reined up before the chandlery, a man emerged from the door of
the cooperage across the street—only long enough to take in the armed riders,
and immediately retreat back into the shop.

Alucius
dismounted, then climbed the two steps to the narrow wooden porch. The door was
unlocked, and he nodded to one of the troopers, who stepped inside before
Alucius. Alucius followed him into the shop, far warmer than outside.

The
other three followed, sabres drawn.

Inside,
at the back of the shop, little more than a large, single-room warehouse, stood
two men beside a long bench. From the iron stove set on a small stone hearth
next to the north wall radiated gentle warmth.

“I’m
looking for the owner,” Alucius announced.

“Who
might you be?” asked the taller of the two by the bench, a burly man with a
square-cut brown beard.

“Alucius,
captain, Iron Valley Militia.”

“You
don’t do much these days, Captain, except ride back and forth. It’s not as
though we’re fighting folk, but I suppose you have to do what you’re ordered to
do.” A wide and generous—and false—smile appeared on the man’s face, exposing
white but crooked teeth.

“I
take it you’re the owner?”

“You
take it right. I’m Cephys.”

“Are
you usually open this early?”

A
frown crossed Cephys’s face, then vanished. “We’re really not open yet. Usually
folk don’t show up until two glasses after dawn in winter.”

Alucius
nodded. “That’s understandable. Mind if we look around?”

“Can’t
say as I like it, but you got four men with blades. Man would be less ’n wise to
say no.”

Alucius
moved toward the bench.

The
other man, younger, thinner, stepped back, his eyes wide. Cephys watched the
militia captain intently.

“I
see you’ve got some provisions laid out here. Are you expecting someone?”
Alucius watched the chandler.

“That’s
why I was here early,” Cephys admitted. “Some traders…said they were Deforyan.
They came through a couple of weeks ago, said they’d be back on Sexdi this
week.” He frowned. “Should have been here already.”

Alucius
could Talent-sense that the chandler was more than shading the truth. “Did you
ever see them before?”

“Not
until two weeks ago.”

The
lie was obvious to Alucius, but he let it pass as he looked at the goods laid
out in stacks along the long bench. He picked up one of the waxed wedges of hard
cheese. “Riding supplies. Most of them made right here in Tuuler. Some even
have the marks on them.”

“Fellow
said he wouldn’t take unmarked goods. Said that too many folk tried to pass off
shoddy or spoiled stuff on traders just passing through.”

“I
imagine he would say that,” Alucius agreed, nodding.

“You
think I’m lying?” Cephys’s face stiffened in anger.

“No.
I think you’re telling the truth…this time.” Alucius set down another
wax-coated packet—one containing strips of dried beef—and turned. “I don’t
think your traders will be here. Was the one you made the agreement with a
gray-haired, gray-bearded fellow?”

“No…but
he was the one who paid the deposit.”

Alucius
could sense Cephys’s sudden worry.

“We’d
had reports of raiders,” Alucius said. “So we were out early this morning,
patrolling. We ran into some raiders. Most of them didn’t escape.” He smiled
and shrugged. “I just thought you’d like to know.”

“Raiders?
Said they were traders. Wore good gray coats.”

“That
may be, but they fired a great number of shots for traders, and when they
realized they were trapped, they fought to the death rather than be captured.
Traders don’t do that.” Alucius turned back toward the door. “I wondered why
they were headed to Tuuler. Now I know. Good day, chandler.”

The
wave of consternation and panic that emanated from the chandler told Alucius
that the chandler had suspected something was not right, but that he had not
known for certain—and that he was likely to be out coins he didn’t have.

As
Alucius stepped through the door, he caught the muttering of the chandler.

“…horsedung…miserable
militia…”

“…careful…he’s
the one…”

Alucius
couldn’t catch the rest of the phrase, but he suspected he knew one of the
phrases. Either it was about his being a herder or about his reputation as the
killer captain.

He
mounted quickly, then nodded at Faisyn. “We can go.”

“Third
squad! Column to the crossroads…”

Alucius
turned Wildebeast, thinking. How could he lay too much blame on Cephys when the
man was only following the example of the merchants who controlled the Council
in Dekhron? He took a slow breath and resettled himself in the saddle.

Even
with the sun close to burning through the mist that clung to the river valley,
the ride back to Emal would be chill, if not nearly so cold as the ride out had
been.

Catyr,
Lustrea

T
he
white morning sunlight
did little to warm the second-floor workroom of
the provincial armory. Chill winter winds from the Spine of Corus whistled
outside the windows as the angular engineer looked down at the ancient
workbench and at the black metal container resting upon a thin sheet of perfect
green quartz. The container was approximately two-thirds of a yard long, a
third wide, and a third in height. Within were an assemblage of crystals—none
red nor pink—small silver metallic objects, and an empty silver bracket.

The
thin man wearing the black and silver of a Praetorian engineer adjusted the
contacts of a silver bracket and eased the green crystal into place before
sliding the cover back over the black weapon. He looked up, then across the
workbench at the gray-haired man in the silver vestments of the Praetor. “That
was the last one. All ten are ready for battle.”

“A
good half year later than you had originally promised, Vestor.”

“I
could not have planned for whatever Talent-anomaly it was that shattered every
red and purple crystal in all of Corus.”

“No.
That
was not within your control. Have you
discovered anything else about that, save that it appeared connected to the
death of the Matrial?”

“No,
Praetor. Whoever marshaled that Talent has done nothing at that level since
then.”

“And
it could not have been the Matrial herself?”

“It
is possible, but I think that would be too convenient an explanation.”

The
Praetor laughed. “Spoken like a true son of Lustrea. Convenience never operates
to one’s advantage.” After the briefest of pauses, he continued. “I do not
understand why your replica devices—the ones that mimic the Tables of the
Recorders—show Tyren, and Aellyan Edyss, and even a herder and trooper who has
been in three different uniforms in as many years, but they do not ever show
the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona as one likely to hold or seek the dual
scepter.” The Praetor’s voice was mild, but steel backed his words.

“I
do not know, Praetor,” Vestor replied carefully. “I would surmise that might be
because Lanachrona is the pivot around which the entire future of Corus will
turn, and a pivot is not an actor. Also, the device would not show all those
seeking to hold the scepter, just those who might be capable. The militia
officer might have the Talent, but not the ambition, while the Lord-Protector
might have the ambition, but not the ability.”

“Still…the
Lord-Protector, young as he is, can marshal a force of far greater size and
power than can this Aellyan Edyss.”

“Aellyan
Edyss holds the Council Vault at Lyterna. We do not know what that holds. It is
Talent-shielded.”

“Could
he have devices such as these?” The Praetor pointed at the black metal box on
the workbench.

“If
he does, he has not yet removed them from the Vault. Even if he does, he may
not be able to repair or use them.”

“You
can tell if he has such a weapon?”

“So
long as it is not totally developed and operated by Talent, and so long as you
can afford each replica mirror, Praetor. If the weapon is made by Talent and
operated by one of Talent…then the glass will not show it.”

“Are
there such weapons?

“Not
since the Cataclysm,” Vestor offered cautiously.

“Then
those are golds well spent.” The Praetor turned and looked in the direction of
the small window at the west end of the workroom. “Once the worst of the snows
abate, we will begin the campaign to take Illegea. While the high road is
seldom fully blocked, with your devices, we will be able to assure that it
remains clear for all of our legions. We will come upon this barbarian before
he is ready, and before the grass grows high enough to nourish the mounts of
his horse warriors. And before he becomes more ambitious.” The Praetor added in
a cold voice. “His insolence in tariffing our traders is not to be
countenanced.”

“He
does appear insolent,” Vestor said carefully.

“Insufferably
insolent.”

“Will
Tyren be with us, Praetor?”

“Not
for now. It is not wise to have both the Praetor and his successor on the same
campaign. I have kept him well aware of both our plans…and your…capabilities,
Vestor.”

“You
are most kind, Praetor.”

“You
mean I am most careful.”

“That,
as well.”

As
he departed, the Praetor’s hearty laugh filled the armory workroom.