Scepters (79 page)

“A
tenth part for now. Another tenth once the Table in Norda is fully operational
and can shunt power to them through the grid.”

“So
we have strengthened the grid, but opened it to an agent of the ancient ones,
who, weak as he is, has survived a barrier and made another translation.”

“He
cannot survive in Blackstear,” pointed out Trezun.

“No.
But do we know that he will stay there? Warn Waleryn that he is able to use the
Tables.” Tarolt paused. “You had best begin making translations to Tempre. That
is close enough that you should not need a Table there, and the Lord-Protector
believes the room is sealed.”

“You
want me to start rebuilding the Table there?”

“Where
else? We need to gain control over the Lord-Protector.”

Trezun
nodded slowly. “It will take time.”

“Everything
takes time, and that is what we have too little of. You had best send a message
to the fieldmasters about the Talent-steer.”

“They
will not be pleased.”

“No.
But they would be less pleased if they discovered it later, and we have not
told them. They should also know that we yet face difficulties. Perhaps it will
motivate them to… encourage greater support for our efforts.”

“Most
true,” admitted Trezun. “Should we request a replacement for Sensat?”

“That
would be best—if there is someone willing to take the risk and with enough
lifeforce to make the long translation to a marginal grid. But word what you
send most carefully. I would rather not upset Fieldmaster Lasylt more than
necessary.”

Trezun
nodded slowly once more.

Alucius
staggered as he broke out from the purple darkness, and he took two steps
before recovering his balance. He glanced around warily, but he saw no one. He
stood in an empty chamber, in a square pit perhaps half a yard below the stone
floor. Dust raised by his boots swirled up around him and he
sneezed—hard—several times.

With
his free hand, he rubbed his nose, trying to stop the itching and the sneezing.
Finally, he glanced around, noticing immediately as he did that the air around
him was far warmer, if not quite springlike. Again… he was in a chamber below
ground, but this one was lit, if dimly, by light filtering through a doorway to
his left. A moment passed before he realized that there was no Table in the
chamber. No Table? But how had he been able to appear?

As
he stepped out of the pit, he frowned, thinking, even as he kept looking around
the empty chamber. He had not been able to find one of the arrow markers. Nor
had he been able to find the golden green circles of the soarers and their
hidden city. He had tried to use a misty golden red circle—and he had broken
out through some sort of barrier. Did that mean that the Tables were only to
make travel easier? He recalled all the Table locations he knew. Each was set
on or near stone and deep in the ground. That argued that the Tables could be
located only in certain places. Alucius looked back at the Table-sized
depression in the stone and nodded slowly.

All
that might be, but he also needed food and rest, and before long. He tried not
to dwell on the situation he was in. His wife was still missing, and he was,
too—at least absent from Northern Guard headquarters at a time when his absence
would certainly be noted, a time he should have been there. For the moment,
though, he had to deal with more immediate needs.

He
considered the chamber around him, There were no furnishings at all, just bare
stone walls—except that the walls were gold eternastone. As with the other
Table chambers he had visited, there was only a single obvious entrance, but
the wooden door and frame that had presumably once filled the doorway had long
since vanished.

Rifle
still in hand, Alucius moved toward the doorway, then up the stone steps,
slowly, because he thought he could hear voices murmuring. With each step, dust
swirled around his boots. Halfway up, he paused, listening.

“…
sure be safe…”

Alucius
tried to make out the words, words that he thought were in an oddly accented
Lanachronan.

“…
safe enough… Councils armsmen won’t be patrolling here tonight…”

“…
you know that?”

“…
backhills… think this place is still home of demons…”

“…
been here before… never seen any…”

Alucius
checked his rifle, then took another step, and another, trying to move
deliberately so as not to raise too much dust, until he reached the top of the
stairs and stood in a small foyer. He could still hear the voices coming from
the larger chamber beyond.

The
talking went on… and on.

Tired
as he was, Alucius decided that he would have to try the breeze illusion to
move past whoever was in the chamber beyond. If it didn’t work, perhaps the
rifle’s presence would be enough to intimidate them, since those talking
sounded as though they were beggars or homeless folk. He concentrated on
creating the impression of nothingness, then eased through the doorway out into
the larger chamber, moving one step at a time.

“…
heard something…” One of the figures in rags turned toward Alucius.

The
young colonel shifted his grip on the rifle.

Another
of the figures, a bearded man in an armless gray tunic, looked toward Alucius,
but his eyes were focused more on Alucius’s boots. “… over there… boot prints…
see…”

“Nobody’s
there…”

“It’s
a demon… or its boots!”

“Run!
Run, Nargila!”

“…
no demons… you said no demons…”

“Run…
!”

Alucius
dropped the illusion once the three figures in rags scrambled

through
the bare stone archway and out away from him. He walked slowly toward the
windows through which sunlight angled. At the low, wide window, which at one
time had to have held a frame and glass, he glanced out into late afternoon,
where the sun hung low over a city, over dwellings that glowed yellow in the
slanting sunlight. He had to squint, trying not to look directly at the sun,
but he could see that the dwellings in the distance, to the north, were indeed
of yellowstone and dark split slate.

Closer,
below the building itself, ran a paved yellowstone road, into which years of
wagon wheels had carved grooves almost a handspan deep. The road alone told
Alucius where he was—in the city of Dereka, capital of Deforya. To confirm
that, he leaned out and looked to the north, where he could see yet another of
the gold eternastone buildings, built without visible mortar or gaps between
the large and regular stones. Even farther to the north was a greenstone tower.

He
stepped back, swallowing. He was relieved, in a way, to be somewhere that he
recognized, but also troubled to have discovered just how many Tables there
once had been.

After
a moment, Alucius turned and made his way in the general direction taken by the
fleeing beggars, finding a wide stone staircase. In time he walked from a
square arch on the north side of the building, stepping out and turning west.

A
vendor at a small cart stared at him, but he did not see anyone else who seemed
even to notice him as he walked westward. He took the precaution of leaving his
riding jacket closed, so that the insignia on his collar could not be seen.
Once he reached the main boulevard, he looked southward, but all he could see
of the Landarch’s palace was a small section of the main gates and another
green tower—the one at the northern end.

From
what Alucius recalled, there were no places offering lodging to the south of
where he stood. He felt like trudging, but forced himself to walk alertly
northward along the main boulevard, vaguely recalling having seen some inns
there when he had last been in Dereka. He also remembered to stay out of the
center section of the boulevard, reserved for riders and wagons. He worried
about carrying the rifle, but he saw more than a few bravos, some looking even
more tired and disreputable than he thought he must, also carrying weapons.
That was something he had not recalled from when he had been in Dereka before.

The
streets were less crowded than he recalled, and few people looked directly at
each other or at Alucius. He had to walk almost half a vingt before he reached
a corner where, across the side street, he saw a three-story stone structure
with the signboard that proclaimed the building as the Red House. Beside the
letters was the picture of a house totally in red.

All
the shutters, doors, and wooden trim had been recently painted a bright red
that stood out against the dressed graystones, stones that had doubtless come
from an older structure. The inn was certainly a place more costly than Alucius
would have preferred, but it was also likely to be more reputable than a less
costly place. He crossed the side street and walked through the stone archway.

A
young man with black hair and wearing a red leather vest rose from behind a
small desk to one side of the spacious foyer. “Yes?”

“I’m
looking for a room… and a meal.”

The
angular young man looked at Alucius, at the heavy rifle, and then at the
nightsilk-covered riding jacket. “Be five coppers a night for the room. Seven
if you stable a mount.”

“Mount
didn’t make it all the way here,” Alucius replied. He hoped the chestnut was
all right, but there was little he could do, not when he was some six hundred
vingts from Salaan.

“You
here to join the Council force?”

“Hadn’t
thought to… When I left my place… well… Landarch was having trouble, but…”
Alucius hoped his vague reply would lead to more information.

“He
had his troubles, all right.” The young man shook his head. “All started after
the Lanachronans came in and destroyed the nomads. Two years back. Landarch
said the big landowners hadn’t met their obligations. He tried to curb their
privileges. Landowners… they complained… plots here and plots there. Woke up a
month ago, the Landarch was dead, and the Council was in power.”

Alucius
nodded. “Think I might just have to think it over.”

“You
want a room? We have a small one on the third floor. We could go four coppers.”

“I’ll
take it. Need to sleep somewhere. Room have a basin and towel?”

“All
the rooms do. You need more water, you can bring the pitcher down here.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius extended the coppers, then offered a tired smile. “What’s best to
eat tonight?”

“Stew’s
never bad, but the plumapple chicken’s probably the best. Or the Spirnaci
noodles with the groundpig.” The young man extended a heavy bronze key. “First
door to the left at the top of the stairs. Has a red square on the door panel.”

“Thank
you.”

“Sir…
might be better if you left the weapon in your room, It’ll be safe there.”

Alucius
nodded.

The
stairs to the second floor were wide and made of polished stone. Those to the
third floor were far narrower and were wood covered with a dark gray carpeting,
The key turned the heavy lock easily, and Alucius stepped into the room behind
the red square.

Since
he’d been expecting a cot in a space more like a barracks cubby, he was
pleasantly surprised by the room—a space three and a half yards by four with a narrow
window offering a view of the one of the abandoned gold eternastone structures.
The inside shutters were dark oak, and the bed, while single, had a firm
mattress, both sheets, and a heavy blanket. The wash table had two pitchers and
a generous basin with two towels.

After
slipping the rifle under the mattress, he stepped to the basin and pitcher.
Slowly and carefully, he peeled off his clothes to the waist. As he had
suspected, he had bruises distributed all across his upper body. Some were
still dark, but others were beginning to turn yellow and purple. He slowly
washed away the dirt and grime. He would have liked to shave, because his beard
itched, both growing out and even when grown out, but all his personal gear had
been left in his quarters.

Still…
cool as it was, the water felt good. And so would some sleep, but that would
have to wait until after he ate.

Once
he was cleaner, he brushed out the dust and dirt from his jacket and shirt,
using a damp corner of one of the towels to remove several obvious spots. He
removed the collar insignia, slipping them into his wallet. Then he left the
room, locking it behind him, and made his way down the stairs to the public
room. He left the riding jacket on, but open.

Only
half the tables in the long room were taken, and as Alucius glanced around, a
servingwoman—wearing a red apron with a few splotches on it—paused and
gestured. “Take any vacant table, sir.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius nodded and moved toward the one corner table remaining.

He
had barely seated himself when another server, a squarish woman—also wearing a
red apron—appeared beside his table.

“What’ll
it be?”

“What’s
on the board?” Alucius asked.

“Spirnaci
pig, plumapple fowl, and stew. Four coppers for each. Ale’s two, and wine is
three.”

“Ale
and the fowl.”

“Coming
up.”

Alucius
surveyed the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary, either with his eyes or
Talent. There was absolutely no trace of purpleness in any of those dining or
serving them. For that he was most grateful. He wished he had an idea of where
Wendra might be and how to reach her. But he doubted he could even search more
until he was refreshed and rested, and that bothered him as well. He had always
disliked knowing nothing, and when Wendra was involved, that was even worse.

Just
as bad was the realization that there were far more ifrits than he had known
about in Corus, and that some of them were real ifrits—not just people
possessed through the Tables. He had to wonder how many more were placed in
other cities, such as Tempre or Hieron, or even Alustre.