Darknesses (8 page)

N
early
a week had passed
since Alucius had dispatched two troopers with his
message to Colonel Clyon. The clouds had broken, and the sun had poured out
warmth on the River Vedra valley. The wind had continued to blow out of the
south.

Alucius
stood outside the headquarters building in the mild air, waiting for Bakka, the
first squad scout. The courtyard of the outpost was dusty, because there had
been little snow to melt within the walls. Outside the outpost, the streets of
Emal were shallow rivers of mud, as was the river road.

The
troopers of fifth squad were taking a break from the blade drills, a break
given after Alucius had seen Bakka ride into the courtyard. Most of them stood
in the sunlight, breathing heavily from their one-on-one drills with covered
sabres.

The
scout emerged from the stable, glanced around before catching sight of Alucius,
then headed toward his captain.

“I’m
sorry, sir, but it took a time to brush all the mud off my mount.”

“That’s
fine,” replied Alucius. “I imagine there was a great amount of mud.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“What
did you find?” asked Alucius. “Besides mud?”

Bakka
glanced down at the dusty clay of the courtyard for a moment, then at the
captain. “There weren’t any signs of anything, sir. I looked over the riverbanks
good, like you said, but I didn’t see any signs of rafts or boats, or anyone
watering loads of mounts. No wagons tracks, or hoofprints along the shoulders
of the road. No new tracks around the place where you ambushed the raiders. I
rode around Tuuler. That’s where it was the muddiest—”

“What
was the mud like there?” asked Alucius.

Bakka
grinned sheepishly. “Well, sir. I was thinking that it might be because they’d
had riders. I was real careful. Even checked the back lanes. Reason it was so
muddy was because someone had left open the gate on one of the irrigation
ditches and when the water started to rise…”

Alucius
laughed. Then he frowned. Could that have been a way to cover tracks? He shook
his head. He doubted that even the most adventurous trooper leader or any
brigand would go to that trouble. One of the problems with being a captain was
a growing suspicion of everything.

The
other aspect of being captain that Alucius hated was not being able to do his
own scouting. As captain, he could no longer scout, not out alone by himself,
where he was most effective, and he had no one who was anywhere near as good as
he was. So often he felt almost blind in relying on his scouts, even as he did
his best to coach them.

“Sir?”

“I’d
wondered…never mind.” Alucius offered his captain’s professional smile. “Thank
you, Bakka. Report what you told me to your squad leader. Carry on.”

“Yes,
sir.” Bakka nodded and turned.

Alucius
looked out over the walls toward the silver-green sky to the east and the faint
hazy clouds that suggested that the warming would continue for at least another
day. Then he turned at looked northward at the towering ramparts of the Aerlal
Plateau.

Although
he had his own ideas, he still had no firm answers or proof as to why anyone
would want to raid Tuuler—or even create the impression of using Tuuler as a
staging base. Nor did he have any response from Colonel Clyon, and he wasn’t
sure which bothered him more.

He
turned and walked back toward the center of the courtyard, nodding toward
Sawyn. “Fifth squad! Break’s over. We’ll go to two on one, now.”

At
least, Alucius reflected, he’d keep sharpening his company’s weapons skills.

Borlan,
Lanachrona

T
he
majer in the blue-and-cream uniform
knocked on the door, then
straightened his tunic nervously.

“Come
on in, Ebuin.” The captain-colonel was sitting behind a dark oak table desk,
but rose as the more junior Southern Guard officer entered and closed the door
behind him.

“I
have a report, sir.”

“What’s
wrong now?” asked the captain-colonel.

“Sir?”

“You
always smile when you have bad news, and you shift your weight from foot to
foot. You need to break that habit.” The captain-colonel’s smile was open and
friendly. “Sit down and tell me about it.” He reseated himself and waited.

Majer
Ebuin sat on the edge of the straight-backed chair, looking squarely at his
senior officer. “The marauder squad…it’s disappeared. From what our informants
in both Emal and Dekhron can tell us, the Iron Valleys Militia wiped them out
to the last man.”

“To
the last man? That seems…extreme.”

“They
ran into the militia’s Twenty-first Horse. The captain—the one you had
expressed concerns to me about—reported to militia headquarters that he had run
into a group of Deforyan brigands. Apparently, none of them survived his
attack.”

“Your
sources are good?”

“The
same as always, sir.”

“And
none of them escaped? He must have gone out determined to destroy them.” The
captain-colonel nodded, then tugged at his earlobe. “He is a determined type.
We had reports that he was rather good. I had been assured that some
other…efforts…might have solved that problem, but they didn’t work out either.
I’m not as pleased as I could be. The Lord-Protector doesn’t like bad news, and
that means that Marshal Wyerl doesn’t. And we don’t want to make the marshal
unhappy.”

“No,
sir.”

“Your
idea of using Deforyan rifles was a good touch, though.” The captain-colonel’s
open smile returned. “Have you any other ideas along those lines?”

“Make
an attack at Emal from the east—with two companies. The attackers should be
attired in the tunics of Deforya.”

“Why
would we want to do that?”

“You
can test the strength of the Iron Valley Militia, perhaps weaken it—and blame
the attack on the Landarch of Deforya.”

“Not
a bad idea—unless we lose more troopers, and that would be likely against the
Twenty-first Company. If we go against the Fifth, we would not lose so many,
but there wouldn’t be much point in that, now, would there? Besides, we may
need those troopers in the future. We would rather do without their captain,
however.”

“We
know the patrol schedules, and we can make sure that the captain of the
Twenty-first gets information to put him in the right place.”

“I’m
sure you can, but we can’t go around having Southern Guards attacking the Iron
Valleys—even in Deforyan tunics, and even if they annihilate this…problem. And
it would be even more embarrassing if someone were to be captured. And
explaining…” The captain-colonel shrugged. “You understand.”

“Can
you give me leave and the funds to hire two hundred mercenaries?” asked Ebuin.

“That
might be possible, if you can make sure that whoever hires these brigands
speaks in the dialect of the Deforyans. It will take a week or so to gather the
Deforyan golds, also.” After a moment, the captain-colonel added, “You might
see if your agents could hire a sniper or two. Or three. We’d really rather
keep the troopers. They could be useful in the east, if it comes to that.”

“Yes,
sir.”

I
n
the dim glow
of a single oil lamp in the small mess room, well past
sunset and the evening supper of excessively aged and baked mutton, Alucius and
Feran sat on opposite sides of the table, Feran’s leschec board between them.
The first two weeks of spring had passed, and the mud that had covered almost
every thoroughfare and lane had finally begun to disappear, either into dust or
damp packed clay.

“We
still haven’t heard anything from the colonel,” Alucius said, moving his lesser
pteridon.

“You’re
going to win again,” Feran said resignedly. “I don’t know why I play with you.
You can spot me your soarer queen, and three footwarriors, and I still can’t
beat you. You could have made a small fortune if you’d played when you were a
ranker.”

“That’s
why I didn’t. It’s why I don’t play for coin,” Alucius replied, almost
absently. “Why do you think the colonel hasn’t replied?”

“Maybe
he has. If the roads west of here are as bad as ours are…”

“Three
weeks is a long time.”

“What
could he say?” countered Feran, his voice turning ironic as he continued.
“Captains, thank you so much for confirming that mischief is afoot and for
embarrassing someone so dramatically. Of course, I can’t say that officially,
and if I make any guesses, it will upset either the Council, the Lord-Protector,
the Landarch of Deforya, or perhaps all three.”

Alucius
laughed, heartily. “Thank you! That’s the best explanation you could have made,
and probably the most correct.”

“If
it is,” Feran replied dourly, “I’ll be a captain here or at Rivercliff until I
receive a stipend, and that’s another ten years.”

“You
want to be a majer like Weslyn? Or Dysar?”

“I
could do as well as Dysar did. Anyone could have. He was the kind that makes
sour peaches taste good,” Feran pointed out.

“The
Council liked him.”

“Of
course they did. He didn’t want to spend coins on weapons or training or
replacement mounts. He arranged for the worst and cheapest provender, unless it
was provided by one of his family’s friends. Weslyn tries, in his own way. We
actually have a few spare mounts, now.”

“And
the food usually isn’t spoiled.”

Feran
tipped the sander king sideways on the leschec board. “I don’t see any point in
continuing the game.” He shook his head. “You think life is one big leschec
game?”

“I’d
hate to think so,” Alucius replied. “It’s played too badly for that, from what
I’ve seen.”

“But
do we see everything?” countered Feran as he began picking up the pieces and
replacing them in the battered wooden box.

“I’m
sure we don’t, but there’s an awful lot of waste in what I’ve seen.”

“Sometimes,
I wonder.”

“Don’t
we all.” Alucius stretched, then stood. “I ought to get some sleep. I’m going
out with fifth squad in the morning.”

“At
dawn?”

“We’re
forming up at dawn.”

“When
we take over the patrols next week, we’re not going that early,” Feran
promised.

“It
has its advantages. We see more, and the men get more time off when we get
back.”

“I’d
rather get more sleep.”

“Go
to bed earlier,” Alucius suggested humorously as he turned toward his small
room.

“You
herders…” Feran laughed again.

B
y the
third week of Triem,
the roads around Emal were actually usable, with
farmers and peddlers occasionally traveling into town. Alucius and Feran had
been able to send out road patrols without it taking a half day to travel three
or four vingts, although the patrols had revealed nothing untoward. The rankers
of the Third Foot squads, charged with bridge duty and collecting
tariffs—always small—and nominally under Feran’s command, had reported nothing
strange among those crossing the bridge to or from Semal.

In
the sunny late-Quattri afternoon, with a light breeze playing across the
courtyard of the outpost, the two captains were standing outside the
headquarters building, watching as their troopers unloaded the three supply
wagons that had finally arrived from Dekhron, along with the two returning
troopers that Alucius had sent with his report almost a month earlier. Alucius
and Feran had already locked the two pay chests into the small strong room
before returning to monitor the remainder of the off-loading.

The
two troopers walked from the stable toward the captains. They had tried to
brush the dust and mud off their uniforms, but from their boots and their
trousers below the knees, it was clear that parts of the river road were still
quagmires.

“Captain…we
have three messages. Two are from Colonel Clyon. That’s one for each of you,
and one…” Firtal grinned as he extended an envelope to Alucius. “It’s
personal-like, sir, I wager.”

Alucius
returned the smile and reached for his wallet, extending six coppers, three for
each trooper, the going rate for such “unofficial” messages. “I’ll probably
appreciate the last one most, Firtal.”

“Seeing
as it looks to be from a woman, sir.”

“My
wife,” Alucius said with a smile.

“Thought
as much, sir, when the herder brought it to me.”

“Do
you remember what herder?”

“Said
his name was Kustyl, and since he had business in Dekhron, he brought this from
his granddaughter. Remembered that, sir, cause he didn’t look old enough for a
daughter you’d be…well…” Firtal flushed.

“He
is, believe me,” Alucius said. “And he’s a good herder, one of the best.”
Alucius grinned. “And we’ve not been married but a year.”

“No
wonder you were looking for that message,” Feran said.

The
troopers smiled more widely.

“Enough,”
Alucius said, mock-gruffly. “We’ll need to read the messages from the colonel
first.” He wasn’t looking forward to that message, one way or another.

“Yes,
sir.” Firtal and Doonan nodded and stepped away, trying hard to keep the smiles
from their faces.

Alucius
tucked the message from Wendra inside his tunic and broke the black wax seal of
the colonel’s message. Feran opened his as well. Both captains read silently,
as the troopers continued to unload the wagons.

The
colonel’s message was brief, and the heart of it was in two short paragraphs
that Alucius read twice.

At the moment, the militia is
running short on both coins and supplies. While I trust that the pay chests,
the ammunition, and the provender that accompanies this message will not be the
last, as commandant, I cannot promise any quick resupply. I have presented the
problem to the Council, and I am confident that they will act upon it with due
deliberation, given the gravity of the situation.

The Council has also asked me to
convey to all officers of the militia the seriousness of the present situation.
For this reason, the Council requests great caution in any maneuvers or actions
that could be mistaken as hostile actions. Because of the seriousness of the
finances of the Iron Valleys, I will state the situation more directly. Do not
fire upon anyone unless they fire upon you first, and do not undertake any
actions which you cannot successfully complete within the supplies and
ammunition at hand.

Alucius
winced. His grandsire and Kustyl had certainly foreseen the problem. Alucius
still had problems believing that the Council could have let the situation get
that bad.

He
frowned. Then…that could be the reason. Only if the situation were
untenable…Was that why Kustyl had been in Dekhron? Wendra’s grandfather had
always known more than Royalt, and Alucius had wondered how. Now, he had a good
idea.

“What
are you thinking?” asked Feran.

“That
we’re going to end up as a province of Lanachrona after all,” Alucius said.

“How
do you figure that?”

Alucius
shrugged. “We’ve just been told—I’m guessing your message is the same as mine…”
He let the words drop off and handed his to the older captain.

Feran
glanced over what Alucius had handed him, then nodded, and handed the missive
back. “Same words. Only thing different is the address.” He glanced toward the
wagons being emptied. “We got more supplies than usual.”

“I’d
wager that the colonel got them on account, before the Council told him there
were no more coins.”

Feran
glanced down at his own missive, then looked up. After a moment, he walked to
one corner of the headquarters building, then back. He stopped and stared at
the younger captain. “I don’t like your wager.” His voice was rueful.

“Do
you think I do?”

“Those
coin-pinching, offal-swilling, sluts’ sons…Fifteen years I’ve given them, and
it’s come to this?” Feran’s voice was low and bitter.

Alucius
could understand all too well. He was lucky to have made it back to the Iron
Valleys, where he had a family and a stead. Had he still been in Madrien…he
would have faced what Feran might. “It might not.”

“You
wouldn’t wager your family’s stead on it, would you?”

“No.
But, if it comes to that, we could lose it. We almost did when they raised the
tariffs during the Matrite War.”

“Those
spawn of a dunghill…those…” Feran shook his head slowly.

“Whatever
it is, it hasn’t happened yet.”

“It
will.” Feran’s laugh was more like a bark. “You don’t look that surprised. Do
you have any idea why?”

“Not
for certain. I’d heard that the Council borrowed six thousand golds to keep the
militia going during the Matrite fight—and that they reduced the tariffs so
quickly after the war that they didn’t have enough to repay the loan.”

“Who
would lend them that?”

“The
Landarch of Deforya, or so I was told. Except he sold it to the
Lord-Protector.”

“Asterta
save us…What I said about the Council was generous.” Feran’s lips tightened.
“And that message means that we’ll be seeing Southern Guards on our lands, and
we can’t do anything?”

“I
don’t know,” Alucius said thoughtfully. “If they’re pressuring the Council, I
wouldn’t think they’d do that.”

“You’re
right. The Council might be that stupid, but the Lord-Protector isn’t.” Feran
glanced toward the south wall of the outpost, in the direction of the river and
of Lanachrona. “Why would he offer that caution?”

“In
case we do have to fight later?” Alucius suggested.

“That
would follow.” Feran turned. “Can you watch the unloading? I need to go off and
think.”

“I’ll
take care of it.” Alucius understood Feran’s consternation. The older officer
had worked his way up through the ranks and had served the militia long and
loyally—and was seeing that everything he’d done and risked his life for might
well be thrown aside. Alucius had done the same—but not so willingly, and
certainly not for nearly so long.

Once
Feran had slipped back into the building, Alucius slipped the missive from the
colonel into his tunic and slipped out the one from Wendra.

Dearest one—

You are so thoughtful to write,
even when I know you have much to do, but it is a treasure to see your words
upon the page…

Your grandsire has taken me out
with the flock a number of times now. He was surprised to learn that the rams
would follow my lead and instructions, and so was I. I can see even more why
you so love the stead, and I love you the more for your love and kindness,
knowing and seeing what I have seen…

Alucius smiled to himself. She
was a herder. He’d felt it, but he hadn’t known for certain.

…the harder part has been
learning to handle the rifles to your grandsire’s satisfaction, but I actually
hit a sander and drove it off…even before your grandsire rode up…

A sander? In the late winter?

Grandpa Kustyl and your
grandsire both have asked me to tell you to act with great care, for the
financial arrangements about the large note taken out in Dekhron have come to pass
as you were told, and pardon me, but you will understand if I do not spell out
the details, for herders should not. You should be most prudent with your
personal goods as well, for we may not be able to send you any…

Alucius
paused and reread the lines. They would not have sent him personal goods in any
case, but the words were there as a reinforcement.

Feran
was right to be worried.

Alucius
looked back at the graceful letters upon the page. Despite the clear warning
and the ominous tone, he was glad to have received the missive, and glad once
more that he and Wendra had been able to share what brief times that they had,
and glad that he had seen how special a girl had been at a gather so many years
before.