Darknesses (7 page)

A
gust of wind rattled the windows
of the officers’ mess, but Alucius continued to look down at the papers on the
table. It was already midmorning on Septi, more than a day after the battle
with the raiders, but he really couldn’t finish writing his report to militia
headquarters until he heard from Haesphes. He wiped the pen clean and closed
the inkwell, then stood and walked to the door. Smoke was coming from the
chimney of the armory.

With
a shrug, and without bothering to don his parka, Alucius stepped out of the
small outpost headquarters. For a moment, he surveyed the courtyard, kept free
of snow by troopers with shovels—a measure that provided both exercise for the
troopers and freedom from endless mud when the spring thaw came. Then he walked
across the courtyard to the squarish stone building that was the armory. His
boots crunched on a patch of the crusty snow that had escaped the shovels and
softened with the momentary thaw of the afternoon before and then refrozen.
Officially, winter would be over in another week, but the snow would likely
persist for several more weeks, before melting and turning the roads—and
everything else—into a muddy mess.

Once
at the armory, he opened the door and stepped inside. Despite the heat
radiating from the iron stove set against the stones of the south wall, the
armory was chill. Alucius looked at the rifles on the armory bench, then at
Haesphes, the elderly armorer, who had just returned to the militia outpost
that Septi morning. Alucius couldn’t blame the armorer for wanting to go to his
daughter’s funeral, but Haesphes’ absence had not been at the most convenient
time.

“What
do you think?”

Haesphes
looked up, then coughed, and cleared his throat, twice. Finally, he spoke, with
the thick accent common to those who lived on the upper reaches of the River
Vedra. “They’re Deforyan rifles, sir, or so much like to them as none could
tell the difference.”

“You
think someone copied them?”

“Not
all of them. Five of them have the maker’s mark, and Deforyan issue numbers.
You can find issue numbers on Lanachronan rifles and Matrite rifles, too. Iron
Valleys is about the only place you don’t find issue numbers.”

“Why
didn’t they copy the issue numbers? Or put false ones there?”

“Extra
work…or they wanted to be able to claim that the rifles were copies.” Haesphes
shrugged. “Good workmanship, though. It’s as good as if they were Deforyan, and
they make good weapons. That’s one reason why Deforya has stayed independent.”

“And
one reason why the Lord-Protector would like to take it over?” Alucius
speculated.

“I’m
just an armorer, Captain,” Haesphes protested.

Alucius
laughed. “You know more than any of us captains, I’d wager, and you’ve seen a
great deal over the years.”

“Not
so much as you, sir, from what I’ve heard tell.”

“You’re
older, and you’ve listened. Who else could make those weapons? You could. So
could the Matrite’s workshops at Salcer, but I doubt either of you did.”

Haesphes
pursed his lips, then looked toward the iron stove before turning back toward
Alucius. “Elcoyn could. Apprenticed in Dereka, years back, and he’s got a place
in Dekhron. Probably three or four in Lanachrona could. And, I’ve heard tell, a
good number in Lustrea.”

“So…either
Elcoyn did or someone in Lanachrona did,” Alucius said.

“Most
likely.”

“Is
there any way to tell from the rifles you have?”

“Not
here. If I watched an armorer, I could see if certain patterns showed in the
metalwork and woodwork. Without that…” Haesphes shook his head.

“Thank
you. Can you keep them locked away? The commandant may want to see them.”

“Aye.
I can do that.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius paused. “I was sorry to hear about your daughter.” He didn’t know
quite what else to say, although he could sense the older man’s sadness. “I
wish there were something I could do.”

“It
was sudden-like, sir. Nothing anyone could have done. But I thank you.”

“I
wish I could have.” Alucius nodded, then turned and slipped out of the armory.

He
stopped in the middle of the courtyard, feeling the slight warmth of a white
sun that had finally burned through the ground fog of the morning. The wind had
changed, and now blew out of the south, far more warmly. If there weren’t any
more raids in the next week or so, and if the warming continued, there might
not be any more after that because the river ice would be breaking up.

Was
that the reason why the raiders had been in Tuuler when they were? He frowned,
then continued back toward the small headquarters building. He still had to add
in the details on the rifles to finish his report to the colonel.

The
mess remained empty, and his papers were untouched, not that he would have
expected otherwise. He sat down and began to write once more.

He’d
written perhaps an additional half page when he heard steps in the corridor. He
looked up as the door to the mess opened, and Feran stepped inside, unfastening
his parka.

“You’re
back early.” Alucius said.

“Just
three days.” Feran shook his head. “It was easier that way, even getting up
before dawn this morning in Fiente.” The older captain extended an envelope
with the black wax seal of the militia commandant. “Here.”

The
outside stated:
CAPTAIN ALUCIUS
,
EMAL OUTPOST
.

Alucius
did not open the message. “Did you get one?”

“Late
last week. The colonel knows my family. He tracked me down in Dekhron. After
reading what he sent me, I decided to come back early. I let him know, and he
gave me that to bring you.” Feran laughed harshly. “Vinkin said you’d had some
action.”

“Raiders,
clad as Deforyans, with Deforyan rifles. Yesterday.”

“And?”
Feran lifted his eyebrows.

“There
were about twenty-five. There weren’t any survivors. Third squad lost two
troopers, and second and third squads each had one wounded.”

“How
did you manage that?”

“Ambush
two glasses before dawn at Tuuler. They had arranged for supplies there. I’d
wondered about that, but we didn’t find that out until after it was all over.”

Feran
nodded slowly. “I see.”

Alucius
suspected he knew what Feran saw, but asked anyway. “See what?”

“Why
the colonel put Twenty-first Company here.” Feran offered a lopsided smile and
gestured to the envelope. “Open it. I want to see your reaction.”

Alucius
broke the seal and read the message silently.

Captain Alucius—

The Lord-Protector of Lanachrona
has sent a strong statement to the Council. He claims that the Iron Valleys are
providing sanctuaries for Deforyan raiders who have been crossing the River
Vedra and terrorizing the peace-loving people of Lanachrona. The Council wishes
to know why they have not been informed about these events.

As you may recall, I had sent a
warning early in the winter about such a possibility. Therefore, at your
earliest convenience, I would appreciate a report on the situation, including a
detailed summary of the actions you have taken to stop such depredations.

The
signature and seal were those of Clyon, Colonel and Militia Commandant.

Alucius
looked up.

“In
a way, I’m glad we were on furlough,” Feran said. “I’ve already reported on
what Fifth Company did in the early winter, and what we plan if the so-called
raids continue. But it doesn’t look like they will.”

“Not
for a time,” Alucius agreed. “Not until whoever it is learns that they lost
everyone.” He paused. “I’ll write my response, but I think you should look at
the weapons and mounts and gear we captured, and send a message with your own
conclusions about them. Otherwise, the colonel will get accused of slanting the
reports because they come from the one company commander most indebted to him.”

“You’re
probably right. After I get my mount settled…”

“You
didn’t—”

“No.
Left him with Vinkin. I wanted to see what you thought.”

“Haesphes
has the rifles under lock. Vinkin has the mounts in the east end of the stable.
I’ve got the personal effects, such as they are.”

“I’ll
look at them.” Feran turned and left the small mess room.

Alucius
took a deep breath. Now he’d have to rewrite the report.

By
the time he’d redrafted the report and gone to work on the letter to the
colonel to cover it, Feran had returned to the mess and begun his own letter.

When
Alucius finished the draft of the cover letter, he cleared his throat.

“Yes?”
asked Feran.

“Would
you read this?”

“Lucky
me.” But Feran took the draft and read through it, with Alucius standing and
rereading it over his shoulder.

Colonel Clyon

Commandant, Militia of the Iron
Valleys

Dear Colonel Clyon—

Your message of twenty Duem
reached us today. We had only seen tracks of the raiders beginning around the
fifth of Duem, and we have been doing our best to track and to corner them.

You will be pleased to learn
that yesterday the second and third squads of Twenty-first Company cornered the
raiders, numbering almost thirty, and in a predawn attack on the east side of
Tuuler, wiped them out to the last man. We have saved all their weapons and
other materials. Their rifles appear to be of Deforyan style and manufacture,
but more than half their mounts were shod with the iron-star shoes of the
Southern Guard. I cannot speculate on how this may have occurred, but we will
be especially vigilant in making sure that no other raiders are successful in
using the area around Emal as a haven for attacks on us or upon Lanachrona. A
copy of my full report on the attack is attached.

After
he finished, Feran handed the draft back to Alucius.

“What
do you think?” asked the younger captain.

“Smart.
You don’t draw any conclusions.”

“He
will, but it’s better that way.”

“Much
better.” Feran shook his head. “I can’t wait to tell the company that there’s
trouble on the way.”

“Another
war, you think?”

“Might
not be that obvious. Then, it might. Either way, people are going to be
shooting at us.”

Alucius
knew he was right. He just didn’t know who was playing what game. Was the
Lord-Protector using the “raids” as an excuse to move into Deforya when spring
came, or to take on the Iron Valleys? Or had someone else set up the raids? And
if so, who? And why? Could one of the Council? Like Elcoyn? But why?

He
had no answers, not ones he could place coins upon.

So,
rather than stew about what he could not change, he took out another sheet. He
could certainly write another letter to Wendra and let it wind its way from
Dekhron to Iron Stem. It would be weeks, in all likelihood, before she saw it,
but he’d never forgotten his failures to write once before—and the regrets
those failures had engendered.

He
glanced down at the silver-rimmed black crystal of the herder’s wristband, and
the depth of the crystal for a moment, thinking about the matching ring that
his wife wore. Then, with a smile, he dipped the pen in the inkwell.

Dekhron,
Iron Valleys

T
wo
men sat at a small table
in the back corner of the noisy café, watching
a man with a gitar accompanying a woman dressed in yellow. The dark-haired
singer’s voice was low and sultry, yet carried through the low-ceilinged room.

“…Selena was full
with faith and light,

so long ago, on that
summer night,

when you swore that
you’d be true,

but now my heart is
filled with rue,

for loving a man
inconstant as the dew…”

The
round-faced man in a severe blue tunic turned from the singer to his companion,
a sharp-featured and white-haired trader, whose fingers tapped on the oiled
wood of the tabletop in time to the rhythm of the gitar. The older trader
appeared not to notice.

Finally,
the man in blue spoke, his voice low. “Tarolt…you said those men were
reliable.”

“They
were,” answered Tarolt. The white-haired trader’s lips drew into a brief and
cruel smile. “They died on the task. A pity…but at times matters take a course
of their own. You should know that, Halanat.”

“One
man—and they failed? Four of them?” Halanat’s eyes traveled to the shapely
singer for a moment before returning to rest on Tarolt. “And it has taken you
nearly a month to discover what occurred?”

“They
attempted an attack in the dark. They were killed and eaten by sandwolves. I do
imagine that the sandwolves left very little. They are not wasteful by nature.
Or so I am told.”

“Eaten,
anyway. Who is to say that he did not kill them and leave them for the
sandwolves?”

“That
may be,” pointed out Tarolt, “but there were no bullets found, and their
wallets were not touched, nor their weapons, nor their mounts. All were found
and returned by one of the local herders, a neighbor of the captain’s. The
herders are most honest about that sort of matter, you understand.”

“He
could have used a sabre. They stick together, those herders.”

“That
could be, but there were witnesses that claim they were killed by sandwolves.”
The pale-faced Tarolt smiled the cold smile once more.

“Nothing
has been lost. They are dead.”

“Except
for the captain.”

“But
even if he did kill them, he would not know why they were there. Or who had
sent them. And, should he be bright enough to guess, he will certainly see the
more obvious possibilities…the action against him might even persuade him not
to be so supportive of the colonel. Or not to follow his grandsire and that old
fool Kustyl so blindly. He might even come to see that the alliance is most
necessary, and that will only lead to weakness among these Coreans.” Tarolt
tapped his fingers briskly again. “He has no evidence, and there is no one who
would believe a mercenary renegade, and even less would anyone understand what
is truly at stake.”

“Those
who serve him know better.”

“But
few others. Very few. We will continue to do what we can to erode the colonel’s
position.”

“What
of the captain? Are we to—”

“We
will let others do what they can, now. If they fail, then we will see.”

“And
Weslyn?”

“Without
the colonel, he stands alone. He will do as the Council wishes, and they will
do as we wish.”

Halanat
nodded in agreement.

Both
men returned their scrutiny to the singer.