Scepters (75 page)

Even
from close to thirty yards away, at a single Talent-glance, Alucius could see
that Tarolt was not a man possessed by an ifrit. He
was
an ifrit. He did not have two lifethreads, with the purpled one dominating one
anchored in Corus. Tarolt’s single lifethread was an ugly dark purple,
stretching somewhere to the southeast. Did it run to a Table?

With
Alucius’s concentration on Tarolt, it was a moment before he realized something
else. Not only was Tarolt an ifrit, but so was the dark-haired man in a maroon
riding jacket who rode beside him. Like Tarolt, he had a single purple
lifethread running to the southeast.

Alucius’s
fingers tightened around the rifle, but he did not lift it, much as he was
tempted. He needed to find Wendra far more than he needed to kill ifrits. And
that was assuming that he could kill them.

Once
the four were well past him, Alucius eased his way back up the wash to where he
had left the chestnut. He waited a time longer before he mounted and set out to
follow the riders. He doubted he would have too much trouble, not when his
Talent could pick up the purpleness from over a vingt away.

The
men whom Alucius followed remained on the river road all the way into Dekhron.
As they entered the outskirts of the trading town, Alucius eased the chestnut
closer, although he fretted that the four might realize that someone was
following them. Tarolt and his party stayed on the river road, riding past the
warehouses and wharves on the river, not turning until they reached the
causeway that crossed the Vedra and led into Salaan.

Once
across the ancient eternastone bridge, the four continued past the lane just on
the south side of the bridge, the lane that led to the Southern Guard fort.

When
Alucius passed the lane, a good half vingt behind Tarolt, he looked to his left
at the dilapidated and abandoned fort. As he continued through Salaan, he
glanced at the narrow-windowed houses. It seemed to him that every time he
passed through, they looked even poorer than the time before, and certainly
more run-down than the first time he had been there more than two years
earlier, on his way home from Tempre and his previous encounter with the
ifrit-possessed Recorder of Deeds.

Slightly
farther southward, Tarolt turned west on a road almost as wide as the
eternastone highway but constructed of winter-hardened clay that led, as
Alucius recalled, to the bluff on the south side of the river that held the few
traders’ dwellings in Salaan.

After
more than a vingt, the riders turned left, down a lane that split a stand of
apricot trees, toward a low ridge south of the sprawling orchard. Alucius hung
back even farther before following.

When
he finally reached the southernmost part of the orchard, he reined up the
chestnut beside one of the last apricot trees and looked ahead. Less than a
hundred yards away, at the end of the lane, he could make out a squat stone building
set on the lowest point of the saddle between two modest ridges. Snow had
drifted against the north side of the building in places, and the limestone
blocks took on a greater purplish hue with each moment that Alucius studied
them. To the northwest were a stable and an outbuilding, both of timber and
plank.

As
he watched, with eyes and Talent, another figure stepped from the stone
building to greet the four riders. Tarolt made an abrupt gesture, and the group
split, the two ifrits and the one who had greeted them going into the squat
building, the guards waiting with the mounts. Alucius could sense that at least
two of the lifethreads were anchored within the structure. That meant that the
building most certainly held a Table. But the structure was relatively new.
Were the ifrits constructing more Tables? Was there one in the north through
which Wendra had been taken or captured?

Since
he had no answers, Alucius continued to watch.

A
single stable boy or ostler appeared, and the guards followed him with all the
mounts, taking them into the long, shedlike stable. After a time, the three
left the stable and entered the other outbuilding. Before long, the dusty open
space before the stone building looked deserted, with neither grooms nor
guards.

Alucius
shifted his weight in the saddle. There were at least five men there, and at
least two were ifrits—and the ifrits were in a building that most likely housed
a new Table.

Now…
what was he going to do?

Salaan, Lanachrona

The
three figures sat around a circular table in the anteroom off the Table
chamber. Despite the chill radiating from the north-facing walls, the
penetrating heat from the stove set against the outside wall made the room more
than pleasantly warm. A decanter of wine on a silver tray was equidistant from
the crystal goblets set before Tarolt and the Recorder, and a tray of cheeses
and fruit rested in the precise center of the table. Sensat sat beside Tarolt,
also with a goblet before him.

“The
herder-colonel is somewhere nearby. I can sense him,” Tarolt said mildly,
pausing to take another small swallow of the red wine. “He was watching the
house on the point, and then he followed us.”

“You
let him?” asked Sensat. “He could have shot at us. He could have injured
someone, or killed one of the guards.”

“Let
him? I tried to project enough vulnerability that he would follow us. Besides,
had he decided to attack, he would have waited until nightfall and slipped into
the compound. He wanted to know where we were going. And why, I would judge.
Curiosity is a fatal flaw with most Talent-steers.”

“He
may be more than that,” suggested the Recorder.

“That
is hardly likely, my dear Trezun,” replied Tarolt.

“Are
you sure it is the colonel? Could it not be an ancient one? Their threads are
also green.” The Recorder set his goblet on the polished wood.

“The
ancient ones seldom come this far south. But… does it matter? We must deal with
both, and we have the means to do so… now.”

Both
Sensat and Tarolt smiled; the Recorder did not.

“Have
you determined whether any of the inactive Tables can be reactivated?” asked
Tarolt several moments later.

“The
one in Blackstear is in perfect condition. It will take but one translation
from here or another Table.”

“That
one has little use except to strengthen the node grid. What else?” inquired
Tarolt.

“The
Table in Soupat will require someone to travel there physically, but its repair
will be relatively quick.”

“Could
we not try a translation to it?” asked Sensat.

Trezun
shrugged. “We could, but that is risky to whoever is being translated. Would
you like to try a translation there?”

“Ah…
we could arrange for a trading trip there,” mused Sensat. “Sometime.”

“I
hesitate to send an Efran when we’re still so hard-pressed.” Trezun frowned,
his fingers stroking the crystal stem of the goblet before him. “Especially
with Waleryn being alone in Norda without a fully working Table.”

“I
thought he had the Table in Norda working,” Tarolt said.

“He
can communicate, but not translate,” Trezun explained. “The cold affected some
of the crystals. It will be a few more days, he says.”

“You
see?” asked Tarolt. “He is working with all the resources of Lustrea behind
him, and it may be almost a year to reactivate one Table and reconstruct
another. That is why I asked about the inactive Tables. How else can we build a
fully functioning node grid quickly? Even if it takes half a season, that will
be far less time than building a Table from nothing at another nodal matrix.
And that does not count travel time.” Tarolt glanced toward the window on the
north side of the room.

“But
the Soupat Table, like the one in Blackstear, is useful only in supporting the
strength of the entire grid,” observed Trezun.

“We
will need all the strength that we can build,” replied Tarolt. “Remember… there
are twenty-three thousand Efrans who expect to make the long translation…”

“The
population here is not large enough to support that many,” murmured Sensat. “Not
without tapping the world itself.”

“The
fieldmasters know already that the support limit is between five and seven
thousand,” replied Tarolt. “So you can count yourself lucky that you are
already here.”

Trezun
nodded politely. “Whatever the number, we will be ready.”

“Why
is it that those Tables that are the easiest to reestablish are the most
remote?” Sensat snorted, going on before the other two could reply, “I know.
That is precisely why. They are so remote that no one suspected they were
there, or that they retained power.”

“Exactly,”
agreed Trezun with a laugh.

“Now
that the Table in Prosp is operating, if Waleryn can reconstruct a Table in
Norda, and we can send someone to repower the one in Soupat, we could rebuild
the Table in Dereka, could we not?” Sensat looked to Trezun. “The location
still retains enough energy and identification to be a portal, even if it is
not so powerful as the one at Hieron.”

“The
portal in Hieron is an anomaly. Only a fully translated Efran can use it, as
you know, and most infrequently. We cannot spend the effort and energy on
portals, not when we need Tables.”

“We
need to make deliberate haste, then,” added Sensat.

“Deliberate
haste? That has been the watchword for years.”

“We
have less time than we thought,” Tarolt replied. “Fieldmaster Lasylt has
calculated that the translation tubes will endure no more than another five years
at most. That is when the nebular field webs will reach the underspace
clear-lines linking Efra to Acorus.”

“Another
curse upon the ancient ones,” muttered Trezun.

“We
were fortunate that they were not stronger,” Tarolt said. “At least their
barriers have been weakened enough that we can resume our work. Would that our
brethren on Efra truly understood the urgency.”

“They
fear leaving the warmth and comfort of Efra, and they do not wish to be the
ones to deal with the cold and the crudeness of Acorus,” Trezun observed.

“Let
someone else make the sacrifices,” Tarolt snorted. “That’s how they feel. We
have, and we will reap the benefits.”

“What
about the tubes to Ejernyt?” asked Sensat.

“Twenty
years at best,” interjected Trezun. “Ejernyt will not be ready for colonization
for at least a hundred years, but we can continue that effort from here on
Acorus.”

“That
means finding and removing the ancient ones,” Sensat said.

“And
their tools—like the colonel outside,” suggested Tarolt, smiling coolly.

“What
do you suggest?” inquired Trezun.

“He
has a curiosity about Tables. We should let him see a fully functioning one—one
with a single translation tube directed to Soupat.” The white-haired ifrit
trader laughed. “That will solve two problems.”

The
other two nodded. After a moment, a crooked smile crossed the lips of the
Recorder.

Alucius
had tied the chestnut to one of the trees farther back in the apricot orchard,
taken his topmost rifle, and eased forward from tree to tree until he stood
just behind one of the trees closest to the stone building and the surrounding
outbuildings. While he studied the stone building for close to half a glass, he
saw no one outside, and it did not appear that anyone would be leaving.

He
didn’t like the idea of approaching the Table building, not with the ifrits
within, but perhaps he could learn something from the outbuildings and even
overhear what the guards and the ostler might be saying. He could wait forever,
but if there were ifrits holding Wendra, he dared not wait long. They might try
to possess her the way they had Halanat and the Recorder of Deeds in Tempre. He’d
tried not to think about that, but he couldn’t avoid it, not after what he had
seen in the last few glasses.

He
waited a bit longer, then slipped westward from tree to tree, careful not to
step in the patches of snow, until he was directly opposite the stable. From
where he now stood, even the apricot tree behind which he had placed himself
could not be seen from the stone building, shielded as it was by the stable and
another outbuilding.

He
took a deep breath, then concentrated, pressing the darkness of lifeforce into
the five cartridges in the magazine of the rifle. He did not try that with the
fifteen cartridges in the leather loops of his heavy belt. With his sabre at
his side and the heavy rifle in his hand, he hurried across the
winter-flattened brown grasses of the meadow toward the stable. The back of the
stable had no windows—just a blank timber wall that had been painted within the
last year. So long as no one left any of the other buildings, he would be out
of view.

Once
close to the stable wall, he listened, but could hear nothing as he made his
way westward. When he reached the end of the stable, he turned the corner and
darted along the side wall, then across the open ground to the rear of the next
building, one that looked almost like a barracks, with high windows. He kept
close to the planked wall, moving back eastward until he was underneath a high
window, open but a narrow crack.

When
he could hear voices, he paused to listen, trying to sort out the words.

“…
how long, you figure?”

“…
could be a couple of glasses… less once in a while…”

“What
do they
do
in there?”

“…
can’t say as I know. Mostly talk. Don’t talk like most folk, either… use words
no one else does.”

“Like
Madrien or nomad?”

“Not
like that. They’ll be talking just like us, and then they use strange words.
Sound normal, but they’re not.”