Legacies (2 page)

In the warm sun of a clear harvest morning, five people stood beside the stable door, two men, two women, and a small boy. The child had short-cropped hair that was a dark gray, rather than true black, and he clutched the hand of the younger woman and looked up at the man who wore the black-and-green uniform of the Iron Valley Militia. Tied to the post outside the stable were a roan, saddled, and a gray mare. The gray tied beside the roan had no saddle, but a harness and two leather bags of provisions across its back.

“Father?” offered the boy.

The uniformed man bent down and scooped up the child, holding him against his shoulder so that their faces were but handspans apart. “You'll be a good boy for Mother, won't you, Alucius?”

“Yes, Father.” His words were carefully articulated.

“He's always good,” offered the older woman who stood back from the couple.

“You'd say that anyway, Veryl,” countered the older man.

“I might,” Veryl responded with a smile, “but Alucius is good. Lucenda knows that.”

“You'll be careful, Ellus,” said Lucenda. “You will, won't you?”

“He'll be fine,” boomed the older man. “Best officer in all Iron Valley. Just going after brigands, that's all. Not like the border wars with the Lanachronans when I was his age. They had Talent-wielders. Not very good, but they did call out sanders—”

“That was then, Royalt,” Veryl pointed out. “You and Ellus can compare stories when he comes back. Reillies, sanders, Talent-wielders…whatever you want.”

The three other adults smiled at the dryness of her tone.

Ellus handed Alucius back to Lucenda, then bent forward and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek. “You two be good. I shouldn't be gone that long.”

Alucius squirmed, and Lucenda set him down beside her, and threw her arms around her husband, holding him tightly.

Alucius looked up at the pair, embracing, then to the corral not two yards from where he stood. His eyes met the black-rimmed red orbs of the lead nightram, and he gently let go of his mother's trousers, taking one step, then another toward the black-wooled ram with the red eyes and sharp horns.

“Alucius!” Lucenda cried, lunging toward her son.

“Let him go,” came Royalt's voice. “Best we see now. He's protected by the fence. Rams don't hurt children, unless the children hit them, and Alucius won't do that.”

Lucenda glanced from Alucius to the fence, and to the nightram on the far side of the four rails. Then she looked to Ellus. His lips were tight, his eyes fixed on their son.

In the silence that had settled across the stead, Alucius took three more steps, until his chest was against the second railing. The nightram stepped forward and lowered his head, until his eyes focused on the child. The curled and knife-pointed black horns glittered, reflecting the sun from their lethal smoothness, standing out from the light-absorbing all-black face, and from the black fleece that was so deep in color that the ram was darker than any night. Even the sharp-edged hoofs were night-black.

The boy smiled at the nightram, then reached out with his left hand and touched the beast's jaw, fingertips from the sharp teeth. “Good! Good ram.”

For a long moment, the nightram's eyes took in Alucius. Then the ram slowly lowered himself to the ground, so that his eyes were level with those of the boy.

Alucius smiled. “He's a good ram.”

“Yes, he is.” Lucenda's voice was strained.

“He likes me.”

“I'm sure he does.”

Deliberately, slowly, Alucius lifted his hand away from the nightram. “You be good, ram.” He stepped away from the railing. The ram slowly rose, lifting his head and sharp horns, but only watched as the boy stepped toward his mother.

“He was a good ram.”

Lucenda swept Alucius up into her arms, hanging on tightly. “Yes, he was. But you must be careful with the nightsheep.”

“I was careful.”

The ram tilted his head, before turning and walking toward the far side of the corral.

“He'll be a herder, for sure, Ellus.” The older and broad-shouldered Royalt laughed. “He's already got a way with them. He'll be ready to take the flock with us when you get back.”

“That's good to know—and so young, yet.” Ellus smiled and straightened the green and black tunic. The smile faded as he looked at Lucenda and Alucius. He stepped over to them and hugged both of them for a moment. Then he looked at Alucius, his face serious. “You'll take care of your mother while I'm gone, won't you?”

Alucius nodded.

“Good.” Ellus smiled once more. “I'll be back before long. Sure as there are five seasons, I'll be back.”

“I'll be here,” Lucenda replied.

Still holding the smile, Ellus untied the roan and mounted, leading the gray as he rode down the lane toward Iron Stem. He turned in the saddle and waved as he passed the end of the outermost section of the southernmost corral.

The older man and woman took several steps back toward the main house, before stopping and watching the rider. The younger woman stood by a fence post, ignoring the nightram on the other side, tears streaming down her face. The fingers holding her son's hand did not loosen as she sobbed.

Alucius looked at the departing rider. “Father…”

“He'll be back,” Lucenda managed. “He will be.”

Alucius watched until his father was out of sight. To the south, above the high road that lay beyond vision, an eagle circled upward into the open expanse of silver-green sky, a black dot that also vanished.

Outside, the evening was darkening, with neither moon to offer illumination. Inside the second lambing crib, with only a small, single-crystal light-torch to dispel the blackness, Alucius watched. His mother held a bottle filled with goat's milk, feeding the small nightlamb. The lamb sucked greedily for a short time, then stopped, lowering his head slowly.

“You have to drink more,” Lucenda told the lamb gently. “It doesn't taste right, but you have to drink it.” She stroked the lamb.

“He doesn't like the sand. I wouldn't like sand in what I drank,” Alucius said solemnly.

“It isn't sand. It's quartz. It's powdered as fine as we can make it with the crusher.”

“But why?” Alucius gave a small frown.

“The ewes have it in their milk. They get it from the quarasote shoots. So we have to put it in the goat's milk so the lamb will grow strong.”

Alucius could sense the doubt in his mother. “He's very sick, isn't he?”

“He isn't as strong as he should be. It's hard for lambs who lose their mothers. The other ewes don't have enough milk for two. Sometimes, they don't have enough for one.” Lucenda tendered the bottle, and the lamb sucked for a time, but the amount of milk left in the bottle remained almost the same.

“He doesn't feel good,” Alucius said. “He's tired.”

“He has to eat, or he won't get well,” Lucenda said evenly.

“Will he die?”

“He might.”

Alucius sensed the concern in his mother's words, and the darkness behind them. He looked at the lamb, then sat down on the old horse blanket beside the animal. Slowly, he reached out and drew the small creature to him, his arms around the lamb's neck.

The lamb bleated, then seemed to relax, looking up at Lucenda. Alucius waited.

She offered the bottle once more.

Alucius held the lamb until the bottle was empty.

Lucenda looked to her son. “How is he?”

“He's tired. He'll be better.”

“He made a mess of you,” Lucenda said.

“I'll ask Grandma'am how to wash it off.” Alucius yawned and lay down on the blanket next to the lamb. “I'm staying here. He needs me. He'll be better.”

“For a while, dear.”

“All night. He'll get well. You'll see. He will.”

“If you say so, Alucius.”

“I just know he'll get stronger.” The child's treble voice held absolute conviction. He yawned again, and then again. Before long, his eyes closed. So did those of the lamb.

Lucenda looked at the sleeping child and the sleeping lamb. A faint smile crossed her lips.

The wind of late fall whistled around the dwelling, but the warmth from the big iron stove in the main room had infused the front parlor as well, as had the heat from the kitchen, with the associated smells of baking apples, biscuits, and mutton. Because it was Decdi, when Royalt did not graze the nightsheep, the older man sat behind the table desk, studying the black leatherbound ledger. He dipped the iron pen into the inkwell and added several figures to the column of figures. Then, with a satisfied half-smile, he swished the pen in the cleaning bowl, wiped it gently with a scrap of cloth and set it in its stand. After closing the ledger, he stood and put it on the top shelf of the bookcase. As he lowered his hand, his sleeve slipped back over his herder's wristguard, a seamless band of silver, with a strip of black crystal in the center.

Alucius watched from the leather hassock by the bookcase, his eyes on the herders' wristguard for a long moment. While chores still had to be done on Decdi, the day ending the week seemed special, perhaps because there was time for the adults to talk, and Alucius could listen, and no one urged him on to the next chore.

“Could I play a game of leschec with you, Grandfather?” asked Alucius. “A short one before supper, if you wouldn't mind?”

“You finished your lessons?”

“Yes, sir.” Alucius pointed to the lesson book on the one shelf that was his, and that held his learning books as well. “Do you want to look at them?”

“You say they're done, they're done.” Royalt leaned forward and offered a wide smile. “You've been watching us, haven't you?”

“Yes, sir.” Alucius did not move from the hassock.

“Supper'll be ready before long.” There was a twinkle in Royalt's eyes as he watched his grandson. “We're having an apple pie. You can smell it.”

“I know. I helped mother pick the best baskets at market. This afternoon I cored the apples and sliced them.”

The herder frowned slightly. “How did you pick the apples?”

“I was careful. I just said some baskets looked good.” Alucius put both slippered feet on the polished wooden floor. “You said I had to be careful.”

“I did. A good herder has some of the Talent, and most people are not comfortable with it. They especially don't like children with it.”

“I was careful,” Alucius said again.

“I'm sure you were, boy.” Royalt grinned. “You think you can beat me?”

“Probably not yet,” Alucius replied. “I can't see far enough ahead.”

“None of us can, boy. We'd always like to see farther than we can. That's being human.” Royalt took the board from the shelf and set it on the table, followed by the plain lorken box that held the pieces.

Alucius stood and pulled the hassock to the side of the table opposite his grandsire. Then he knelt on the hassock.

“You want black or green?” asked Royalt.

“Don't we choose?”

Royalt laughed. “You pick. I'll choose.”

The boy took two of the footwarriors, one green and one black, and then lowered his hands below the table, switching the pieces between hands several times before lifting both hands, backs up, and presenting them to his grandfather. Royalt touched Alucius's right hand. The boy turned his hand over, opening it and showing the black piece. Then he turned his left hand and displayed the green footwarrior.

“Black it is.”

Alucius quickly set up the pieces, beginning with the footwarriors in the first row, and ending with the soarer queen and sander king.

“Do you have any questions before we start?” asked Royalt.

“No, sir…except why is the soarer a woman and the most powerful? Sanders are powerful, too, and they kill nightsheep. The soarers don't.” He paused. “Do they?”

“No, the soarers don't.” The older man laughed. “I can't tell you why the soarer is the most powerful piece. It's always been that way.”

Alucius waited for his grandfather's move. Not surprisingly, it was the fourth footwarrior, two squares forward. Alucius matched the move, so that the two blocked each other. His grandfather moved the pteridon out, and Alucius countered by moving his fifth footwarrior a single square forward.

By several more moves, Royalt was smiling. “You have been watching. You're playing like your mother, but that last move was like Worlin's.”

Royalt attacked, taking Alucius's lesser alector, but losing a pteridon, and a footwarrior, before capturing the boy's greater alector, at the cost of the other pteridon.

“Supper's ready!” called Lucenda from the main room.

“We can finish after supper,” Royalt suggested.

Alucius studied the board before looking at his grandfather. “No, sir. You'll win.”

“I might not.”

“You should win,” Alucius said. “But could we play another tomorrow?”

“I think I could manage that, if I'm not late bringing in the flock.” Royalt stood. “Before long, you'll be besting me.” Royalt laughed. “Time to wash up, boy.”

Alucius followed Royalt to the washroom off the kitchen where Royalt took the lever of the hand pump and put it through several cycles, until the chill water was flowing into the basin. Alucius waited and then took his turn, before returning to the kitchen.

Royalt sat at the head of the table, at the only chair with arms, facing into the kitchen, while Veryl sat at his left, closest to the serving table. Lucenda set a wide platter of mutton—from a town sheep bought the week before—on the table, and then seated herself at the end of the table, with Alucius on her left.

Veryl cleared her throat gently, and the other three bowed their heads.

“In the name of the One Who Is, may our food be blessed and our lives as well. And blessed be the lives of both the deserving and the undeserving that both may strive to do good in the world and beyond.” Veryl smiled and looked up, glancing at Royalt.

The herder returned the smile, and then speared a slab of the mutton and set it on his wife's platter before serving himself and passing the platter to Veryl, who in turn passed it to Lucenda. Lucenda served Alucius and herself. The gladbeans, doused and lightly fried in sweet oil, followed. Alucius took one biscuit after his grandfather passed the basket to him.

“You can have two,” offered Veryl. “You're a growing boy, and there's more than enough. We got some of the best honey from Dactar last week.”

Alucius grinned. “Thank you, Grandma'am.” He knew about the honey, having already snitched the smallest of samples several times during the week.

“Of course,” his grandmother continued, “there isn't quite so much honey as there might have been.”

Alucius flushed.

Lucenda shook her head, in what Alucius knew was mock-disapproval—or almost mock-disapproval.

“It was awfully good,” Alucius admitted, “and I only had a little.”

At the end of the table, Royalt coughed to smother a smile.

“You might have asked,” suggested Lucenda.

“You would have said no.”

“Sometimes that happens,” his mother replied. “We can't always have what we want. You know that. Get too greedy, and you might get a Legacy of the Duarches.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Alucius wasn't too sure what that meant, but it didn't sound good.

After the momentary silence, Royalt spoke. “Been wondering if we'll be having a long and cold winter this year.” He took another slab of mutton, and ladled gravy over it.

“You think so, dear?” asked Veryl.

“Haven't seen a sander in near-on a month. Not many sandwolves, either. Or even scrats. Saterl says the sandwolves have moved closer to the town, that folks there are losing dogs, and the wolves are going after food sheep. They all forget that the wolves don't leave a scent, and that food sheep don't sense them. Most times, sandwolves don't like town sheep, unless they're starving. Last time that happened this early in the fall was in the big winter, fifteen-sixteen years back.” He took a swallow of the weak amber ale. “Wind's colder early, too.”

“Do you think we should lay in another town sheep or two in the holding barn?”

“Three, maybe. And some of the big sacks of dried beans. We've got the coins.”

Alucius hoped that his grandfather happened to be mistaken, because Alucius hated the beans. But he knew that Royalt had a feel for weather, and his own feelings had already told him it was going to be cold.

“And some of the dried maize,” suggested Lucenda.

“You never did care much for the beans, did you, dear?” asked Veryl.

“You know that, Mother.” Lucenda grinned. “Neither does Alucius. One of my faults that has been passed on to him.”

“One of your few faults,” suggested Royalt. “If you'd pass the biscuits, Alucius?”

Alucius looked around the table, at the three adults, and took another biscuit, smiling, before handing the basket back to his grandsire.