Darknesses (9 page)

O
n
the Septi three days after
the arrival of his letter from Wendra,
Alucius was up early, unable to sleep, and rather than toss in his blankets, he
washed and dressed well before dawn and made his way from his quarters out into
the darkness of the courtyard, past the sentry from the second squad of the
Third Foot, who acknowledged him with a challenge, and then out onto the
deserted cobblestone causeway to the bridge.

He
walked slowly, silently, stopping short of the foot of the bridge. He looked
out into the clear sky, with the full greenish disk of Asterta hanging well
above the river bluffs to the west of Emal. Asterta—the ancient moon of the
horse goddess, half of the duality—with Selena—that the ancient Duarchy had
embodied. Balanced duality, the goddess of war and the goddess of peace, sharing
the heavens, and for millennia, or so the ancient texts and roads proclaimed,
that balance had brought prosperity. But had it?

From
what Alucius had seen in his short life, he wondered about the truth of those
ancient legends.

He
looked down from the moon at the black surface of the river, flowing westward
toward Dekhron. Kustyl had been in Dekhron, and Wendra’s letter had been about
more than love and longing. It had also been clear enough in suggesting that
times were unsettled and likely to become more so—and that the Council had been
unable, or unwilling, to take the steps to repay the debt they had incurred in
the Matrite War. While the Landarch of Deforya had no real way to require
repayment, and doubtless knew it, that lack of ability did not apply to the
Lord-Protector of Lanachrona. The only real question in Alucius’s mind was how
exactly the Council would sell out to the Lord-Protector. The traders in
Dekhron, and those few others all along the Vedra, probably had more in common
with Lanachrona than they did with crafters of Iron Stem and the herders of the
north, and the nightsheep herders were few and far between across the arid
quarasote plains. Alucius doubted if, even with wives and children, they
numbered more than five hundred. And five hundred could do little against the
thousands in Dekhron, and the tens upon tens of thousands in Lanachrona.

He
turned toward the bridge itself, where nothing moved. There was but a single
bridge guard at night—although there was a large bell atop the guardhouse with
which he could summon aid—and the iron gate was locked. The gate was tall
enough to accommodate a rider and wide enough for most wagons, although at
times some traders had been forced to disassemble their wagons and slide the
wagon beds through sideways. The gate was also far enough out onto the bridge,
if on the south side, that while an individual
might
be able to climb over or around the barbs on its extended edges, that
individual certainly would not have been able to carry much in the way of goods.
Neither the Iron Valleys nor Lanachrona was that concerned about individuals.
Both wanted the tariffs from the others’ traders or from any goods crossing the
river.

Alucius
suspected that the real purpose of guards and gate was to force those traders with
goods of greater value to travel through Dekhron and the smaller city of Salaan
on the Lanachronan side of the River Vedra. The Lanachronans probably didn’t
care that much, since little enough trade came to the eastern arm of the Iron
Valleys, but the traders who made up the Council of the Iron Valleys cared
greatly enough to keep two horse companies and two squads of foot stationed in
Emal.

On
the far side of the bridge and river, there were no lights in the hamlet of
Semal, not a one, and Alucius had seldom seen any there, except early in the
evening, and certainly none late at night or well before dawn.

The
faintest of silver-green radiances washed over him from his left, and he
turned, slowly, sensing the clean greenness of a soarer. But for a moment, she
hovered there, a small womanly figure with wings of silver-green light that
extended yards from her shoulders. Then she was gone, as if she had never been.

Not
a message, not a thought, not even a gesture…but Alucius shivered. Soarers had
only appeared for him when his life had changed or was about to change. Then,
he reflected with a self-deprecating smile, he had already known his life was
about to change. He just wasn’t sure how.

Lyterna,
Illegea

S
hadows
still cloaked the redstone spires
of the Council Vault, even as the
harsh white early-morning light of the sun poured over the peaks to the east
that composed the Spine of Corus. Against the shadows, the timeworn crimson
stone spires, carved ages before out of the cliffs, stood out as a hard red.

Legions
of the new Myrmidons, all in their blued armor, stood on the steps leading up
to the Vault, but they faced westward, looking down upon the polished redstone
plaza beneath those steps. Upon the plaza were twenty pteridons, creatures from
before the Cataclysm, formed into a wedge. Beside each blue leather form stood
a rider, wearing the blued armor that had not been seen in Corus since the
Cataclysm. Each rider held a length of shimmering blue metal, the ancient
skylances once carried by the original Myrmidons.

Beside
the lead pteridon stood Aellyan Edyss, his silver-blond hair glittering in the
morning sun, his arm raised, holding the skylance overhead. He jabbed the lance
skyward once, then turned toward his pteridon, slipping the skylance into the holder
that extended forward of the saddle. Then, with a mighty leap, he vaulted into
position astride the pteridon and settled himself into the blue leather saddle
that seemed invisible against the pteridon’s hide.

In
turn, the pteridon leaped forward and spread its wings, wings that suddenly
stretched more than twenty yards on each side, and with strong strokes bore
Aellyan Edyss aloft.

A
single explosive cheer echoed from the new Myrmidons arrayed on the steps of
the ancient Vault.

One
after another, the remaining pteridons lifted off from the shimmering expanse
of polished stone below the Vault and, following Edyss, circled upward into the
spring sky, higher and higher, until they re-formed into a wedge that arrowed
southward.

From
just forward of the pillars of the Vault, the councilors watched, their mouths
slightly parted, as the wedge of pteridons swooped down at the targets to the
south, targets that flared into blue flame as the narrow beams of blue light
struck.

A
nother
Quattri came and went,
another week, another ten days of increasing
warmth and dust, and continued quiet in Emal and upon the roads in the eastern
part of the Iron Valleys. On Quinti, Alucius took fourth squad east beyond
Tuuler, up along the river road toward the second cataract, not that he
expected to find much of anything. He and Egyl rode side by side at the head of
the column, and two troopers acting as scouts were more than a vingt ahead,
well out of sight around the gentle curve in the river road.

As
if following a celestial glass, once spring had turned, the snowfalls had
stopped, and the skies had cleared, and there had not been a drop of moisture
falling across the entire river valley for almost a month. The light breeze
picked up the road dust, and even at a walk, the squad’s mounts left a trail
hanging in the air that followed the riders.

Alucius
wiped the faint grit from his damp forehead and looked at the curve in the road
ahead, the shed to the left, and the orchard to the right, with the small green
leaves of spring already cloaking the branches of the apple trees and the faint
perfume of the last white blossoms lingering in the air. There was not a single
sign that barely a month before there had been a skirmish—or ambush—along this
section of the road.

Alucius
could sense the roar of the distant second cataract, and he glanced toward the
river, running high enough that the underbrush along the normal shoreline was a
good yard underwater.

“There’s
been talk around, sir,” Egyl said cautiously. “Things like the men might not
get paid, and that we’ll all be put out of service. That’d include those with
more ’n a few years.”

“I’ve
heard the rumors,” Alucius said. “We got the pay chests almost two weeks ago,
and there’s enough in them for spring and summer, and sometime into fall. I
don’t see us going short on pay anytime soon.”

“That’s
good to hear, sir. Still…Captain Feran’s been quiet, too. Jissop says that’s
not a good sign, and he’s been a squad leader with Captain Feran for almost
four years.”

Alucius
considered. What could he say? Finally, he said, “You’re right. There has been
talk, but there are always rumors. There always have been. It’s not secret that
the Council has always been hard-pressed to come up with funding for the
militia.” He forced a shrug. “It’s something the militia has always had to live
with.”

“What
do you think will happen, sir?” Egyl pressed.

“I
don’t know. There are some traders who think we should become part of
Lanachrona. There are others who don’t, and there are some of each who sit on the
Council. I know that the colonel doesn’t favor that, but I’ve heard that the
Council still owes a large sum that they borrowed from the Landarch of Deforya
in order to pay for supplies and troopers during the Matrite War. They’ll
probably have to raise tariffs to pay that off, and that won’t set well with
anyone. How it will all turn out—your guess is as good as mine.”

Egyl
laughed. “I’d not be thinking so, sir. You’ve always seen things the way they
would be. That’s why I asked. You’re not saying, and I’d be thinking that
you’re as worried as Captain Feran. Would I be wrong in that, sir?”

Alucius
turned in the saddle and looked at Egyl. “No, I am worried. But until we know
what’s likely to come down, I can’t say what might be the best to do. There are
times to act, and there are times when it’s best to wait. This is a time to be
prepared for anything—and to wait.”

“You
think we’ll be seeing attacks by the Southern Guard?”

Alucius
shook his head. “No. We might see an attack by someone else, but not by the
Southern Guard.”

“There’s
no one else on this border, sir.”

“We
ran into raiders who were supposed to be from Deforya, as I recall, less than a
month ago.”

“I
see your meaning, sir.”

Alucius
hoped they wouldn’t see any more attacks, but he could also see that attacks by
“outsiders” would be a way to put more pressure on the Council—to force the
militia to use resources it really couldn’t afford. “We’ll just have to be
alert and see what happens. That’s all we can do.”

He
just hoped that would be enough.

South
Pass, Spine of Corus

V
estor
rode into the chill wind,
following directly behind the vanguard of the
Praetorian Legions, a small cart drawn by a single horse behind him, each chest
within the frame of the cart containing one of his devices. A second cart
remained well guarded within the main body of the foot companies and horse
troopers who filled the high road for more than three vingts back toward Catyr.
Despite the clear skies and the full sunlight, Vestor wrapped the heavy
fleece-lined jacket around his slender form more tightly, trying to ignore the
cold creeping up from his legs toward his lower thighs.

“It’s
a warm day for early spring here,” offered the Praetor heartily as he reined in
the silver charger beside the engineer’s smaller gray mare. “You should feel it
in winter.”

“If
it is all the same to you, Praetor, I would rather not,” Vestor replied. “I was
raised in Lysia and never have adjusted to the cold.”

“You’d
never make a Praetorian Guard, then.”

“No,
Praetor, I would not. I fear I must remain an engineer.”

The
Praetor, ruddy-faced in the cold, his iron gray hair blown back by the wind,
laughed. “Then best you remain a good one.” He paused. “You are certain Aellyan
Edyss has discovered no ancient weapons in the Vault?”

“No,
sir. I am not certain. I have destroyed two glasses looking for such, but, as I
have told you, if there is much Talent involved, the glass will not show it. I
can say that he has no weapons such as ours, or as those of the Matrites.”

“Does
that woman still rule Madrien?”

“The
woman who had been the chief assistant to the Matrial? She does. She styles
herself the Regent of the Matrial.”

“And
no one has said anything?”

“Who
can understand the people of the west?” Vestor replied.

The
Praetor snorted, then looked up as an overcaptain rode swiftly down the side of
the high road toward them, reining in and turning his mount. “Praetor, there is
a nomad scout ahead. He perches like a mountain cat on the cliff on the north
side of the road.”

“How
far ahead, and how far off the road?”

“Perhaps
a vingt ahead, and less than half a vingt to the north, but the cliff is a good
hundred yards of sheer rock.”

The
Praetor looked to Vestor. “Could not your device destroy such?”

“I
would think so.”

“Then
let us see.”

“We
will need to reach a high spot where we can look directly at the nomad,” Vestor
pointed out.

“You
will be able to see him from the side of the road ahead, there.” The
overcaptain gestured toward a shoulder on the north side of the high road,
wider than the few yards that bounded most of the high road, and roughly a half
vingt farther along the road to the west.

Once
they neared the area, wider and somewhat flatter than the road shoulder before
and after it, the Praetor gestured, and the column slowed to a halt.

Vestor
rode his mount onto the crusted and packed snow. He turned in the saddle and,
with the lead he still held, stopped the cart horse, awkwardly. After the
engineer dismounted, a trooper had to ride over and take the reins of the
engineer’s own mount as the mare started to wander toward a shiny patch of ice
that looked like a puddle of water.

The
Praetor looked westward, noting, “The nomad is still there.”

Vestor
ignored the byplay as he unfastened the heavy oak tripod from the side of the
cart and set it on the uneven ground, adjusting and readjusting the legs until
it was solid. After that, he extended the retaining brackets at the top of the
tripod and screwed them in place. Only then did he return to the cart, where he
slid back one of the wooden panels in the top of the cart and extracted a black
metal object, oblong in shape, nearly a yard in length, and a third that in
height.

With
the ease of practice, he slid the device into the retaining brackets and
tightened the clamps. Once the device was firmly anchored, he slid back the
apertures on the top to let the sunlight fall on the power crystals.

“How
long before it is ready?” asked the overcaptain quietly.

“When
the crystals glow,” replied Vestor, using the small telescope attached to the
left retaining bracket to sight the device at the nomad, who remained nearly motionless
on the cliff top ahead, still watching the column of the Praetorian Legions.

After
a time, Vestor slid one of the side levers forward, and a beam of red-limned
light flashed from the discharge crystal. To the west, perhaps ten yards below
the cliff top from which the nomad watched, a line of steam flared from one of
the icicles hanging from rocky overhang. The lower half of the icicle, sheared
from the upper by the heat of the beam, plunged into the depths below. The
nomad leaned forward, looking down.

Vestor
resighted, then brought the beam up and across in a slashing motion. The
red-limned beam of light sliced evenly through the nomad, cutting through the
blued armor on his chest as if it had been blue-silver cotton. A pink haze
sprayed across the snow, and the rider split into two parts. His mount half
reared, then collapsed.

Vestor
swallowed convulsively.

“Wonderful!
Wonderful!” the Praetor exclaimed. “Now he won’t be able to report anything to
Aellyan Edyss.”

The
device began to hum and Vestor, swallowing yet again, quickly slid back the
power lever and closed the apertures.

“Why
did you do that?” questioned the overcaptain.

“Because
the crystals within would vibrate, then disintegrate. Depending on the
temperature, the dampness of the air, a device may work only for a short
period, or for a much longer one. That is why we needed so many.”

“It
is good that you recognized that,” offered the overcaptain.

“The
engineer is very good at recognizing limitations, Overcaptain,” the Praetor
said. “Perhaps you should check and see if there are any more scouts lurking in
the cliffs. It would do little good to kill one and then have two others report
our presence.”

“Yes,
Praetor, sir. Right away.”

Vestor
began to unclamp the weapon from the retaining brackets, then slid it clear and
returned it to its storage space in the horse cart.

“You
are most adept at that, Vestor,” observed the Praetor. “One might actually
think that you came from a family of cannoneers.”

“Thank
you, sir.” Vestor quickly disassembled the tripod and restored it to its place
on the side of the handcart, then glanced around, before seeing the trooper
holding the reins of his mount.

“But
one would never think of you as a horse trooper,” added the Praetor, with his
hearty laugh.

Even
after they resumed their journey, none of them looked forward at the
pink-sprayed snow at the edge of the cliff top to the west.