Scepters (93 page)

Faisyn
met them near the end of the orchard—almost at the spot where Alucius had tied
the chestnut when he’d first investigated the Table building.

Like
Dhaget, Faisyn studied Alucius for a moment before speaking. Then he gave the
minutest of headshakes. “Sir? We heard shots a while back… but no one came out.
I had second squad order the ostler and the folks in the other building to stay
inside.”

“Thank
you. I should have thought about that,” Alucius admitted.

“If
I might ask… sir.”

“Oh…
they’re dead. All of the Talent-twisted ones.”

“Talent-twisted?”

“You’ll
see. Talent can be used for good or evil, just like most abilities. Those who
use it for evil… it does something to them.” As he spoke, Alucius realized
that, for some reason, he seemed to be sitting higher or straighter in the saddle.
He didn’t recall looking down at Faisyn quite so much. He glanced sideways at
Wendra, realizing that she was larger… all over, not by that much, but enough
so that she probably stood a half a handspan taller, yet her garments did not
seem tighter. Alucius concealed a frown. How could that have happened? “Oh…
sent Roncar to get Majer Feran and a supply wagon. There’s equipment in there,
and some other things that belong to the Guard.”

“Yes,
sic.”

Alucius
looked at Wendra, who was patting Alendra, and gently bouncing her, clearly
trying to mollify a hungry child who was unlikely to be pacified much longer. “Where
do you want to feed her?”

“Out
here. For now.”

Alucius
understood, He turned back to Faisyn. “Why don’t you come inside? You can see
what happened.” He turned in the saddle. “Dhaget, if you and the others would
stay with my wife? “

“Yes,
sir.” Dhaget’s expression conveyed a definite impression that he doubted Wendra
needed much protection.

Alucius
wondered at the reaction, because Dhaget hadn’t seen Wendra even using weapons,
not that the lancer’s impression was totally wrong, but Wendra would be slower
to react while breast-feeding.

Faisyn
and Alucius rode toward the Table building, trailed by a half squad of lancers.
They reined up just short of the stone walkway to the door. The senior squad
leader dismounted, following Alucius. Alucius carried his rifle toward the
entry, although his Talent sensed no one in the building. Still, so long as the
Table was operational, other ifrits could appear.

As
he neared the half-open doorway, Faisyn’s mouth opened as he saw the dead
ifrit.

“That’s
what the Talent-twisted look like when they don’t hide behind a
Talent-illusion,” Alucius explained. “There are more inside. They’re dead.” He
opened the door and stepped over and around the dead ifrit.

Faisyn
looked at the two fallen ifrits in the foyer before his eyes drifted to the
ravaged side of the archway, and the once-molten and since-hardened drops of
stone and ceramic on the floor.

The
two walked into the conference room, where the heat continued to well out from
the iron stove against the wall. Alucius blotted his forehead again. “They like
it warm.”

“It
is hot.” Faisyn looked to the side wall behind the archway, where Alucius’s
other rifle rested. “That’s yours, isn’t it?”

“I
left it here. I didn’t see
any sense in
lugging it
back.”

The
squad leader’s eyes dropped to the two bodies on the far side of the conference
room.

“There
are five more on the stairs and in the lower room,” Alucius said.

Faisyn
stopped. “Looks like you scarcely needed us, sir.”

“You
saw the one by the doorway. If there had been more…” Alucius left the rest of
what he might have said hanging. “We were lucky.”

Faisyn
shook his head. “Sir… Colonel… I’d not be arguing with you, but… if you’d been
counting on luck, you’d have been buried long ago.” He straightened up,
surveying the room, then walked to the staircase and looked down. “Pretty big
fellows… even the woman there.” He paused. “Your wife shot some, too, didn’t
she?”

“About
half, maybe more. She’s very good.”

“You
wouldn’t have brought her if she wasn’t.”

“I
didn’t want to,” Alucius admitted.

Faisyn
shifted his weight from boot to boot.

“You
can go outside, if you want,” Alucius said. “I need to wait here, just to make
sure someone else doesn’t try to sneak in through the underground entrance down
there.”

“You
want two of the men here?”

“Two
should be enough.” Alucius walked to the window and opened it wide. Then he
pulled out one of the chairs and seated himself. “If you’d leave the front door
open.”

“Yes,
sir.”

On
his way out, Faisyn dragged the one ifrit back into the foyer.

Shortly,
two troopers appeared. “Sir?”

“Inhere.”

Alucius
recognized only one of the two, the generally hapless Sylat. “You can sit down.
We’re just here waiting for Majer Feran… and to make sure none of the
Talent-twisted sneak in from down there.” He inclined his head to the
stairwell.

More
than a glass passed before Alucius heard the wagon drive up. During that time,
he drank almost an entire water bottle.

Alucius
could sense that Wendra accompanied Feran. He stood as his wife and the majer
entered the room. “Sylat… you two can report back to your squad leader.”

“Yes,
sir.”

The
two lancers inclined their heads to Feran and slipped out.

Feran
waited until the three of them stood alone. He studied Alucius. “It’s still
you, isn’t it?”

“Same
man who played leschec with you in Emal, when you complained that you didn’t
see why you bothered,” Alucius said dryly. “Same officer who watched you go off
griping about protecting an oilseed works… owned, as we later found out, by
Yusalt’s esteemed father.”

Feran
nodded. “You’re different. The same, but different.”

“Come
on down the stairs. You’ll see why.”

Feran
looked at the dead ifrits more closely. “Those… what are they? I’ve never see
people like that.”

Alucius
caught the amused smile that flitted across Wendra’s face. “That’s what someone
truly twisted and possessed by Talent looks like. The one second from the end
was Tarolt. He just projected an illusion when he met people. That was probably
why he didn’t meet that many people. It took too much effort. There are five
more down below.” Alucius led the way. Feran followed, and Wendra came last,
patting Alendra with one hand, her rifle in the other.

Once
in the lower room, Feran gestured toward the black lorken-framed oblong. “Is
that one of those Tables?”

“Yes.
Tarolt built one here. That’s how he knew where people were.”

“Can
you use it?”

“Probably,”
Alucius said, “but using it for long turns people into… those.”

An
expression of distaste crossed Feran’s face. “The more I find out about Talent…
the less I like what I discover.”

“Talent’s
like any other form of ability. It’s easy to misuse, and the results are ugly
when it is.”

Feran
gestured toward the body of the largest ifrit. “Never seen anyone that big
before. You think he was someone important?”

Alucius
looked at the dead ifrit. “He was the most powerful one. I don’t suppose we’ll
ever know who he was.” After a moment, he walked over to the five chests set in
front of the Table. He opened each of the lids in turn, revealing the contents.

Feran
surveyed them. “There must be thousands of golds…”

“Close
to ten thousand, I’d guess,” Alucius said.

“They
had that much… and they let… the Council… ?”

“Some
of it they got later, I think, but they never would have let the Council know.”

Feran’s
lips tightened. “They make hogshit smell sweet.”

Alucius
nodded.

“What
do you plan to do with the golds?”

“I’d
like to buy back our independence, but it’s too late for that. We’ll send a
third of it to the Lord-Protector and we’ll keep the rest to pay for moving the
Northern Guard to Iron Stem—and for equipment and supplies. We’ll be honest. We’ll
tell the Lord-Protector. He’ll be happy to get three thousand golds. He’s
already agreed to the move, and now it won’t cost him.”

“You
don’t think he’ll want more?” asked Feran, skepticism evident in every word.

“After
what we’ve done? I don’t think so.” Alucius laughed. “Besides, who would he
send to collect it?”

In
turn, Feran laughed. Wendra smiled.

The
silence drew out.

“You’re
not finished, are you?” Feran said slowly.

“No.”

“I
didn’t think so. You have that… air.”

“I’m
going to ask you for yet another indulgence and favor,” Alucius said. “I’ll
need a guard posted around the building. They’re to stop anyone from leaving
until Wendra and I return.”

“Where
are you going? How long?”

Alucius
gestured to the Table. “They can be used for travel. With Talent. There are two
more of these.” He gestured to the dead ifrits. “And a number more of those
Talent-twisted.”

“And
I suppose you two need to save Corus from them?”

Alucius
forced a laugh. “Something like that.” He paused. “Do you want another bunch
like the prophet’s lancers or the Matrial’s torques?”

“These…
did that?”

Alucius
nodded. “And more. They brought those pteridons and skylances we fought in
Deforya.” Alucius didn’t mention that they’d brought them millennia earlier.
They
had
brought them, and it didn’t matter when.

Feran
was the one to laugh. “If it were anyone but you, anyone at all…”

“Thank
you.”

“When
are you leaving? How long will you be gone?”

“As
soon as we can. We won’t leave until we eat, and until the lancers have dragged
out the bodies, and until you’re ready to take the golds back and lock them up.
I think it would be better to get some oil and burn the bodies.”

“So
do I. But I’d like all the squad leaders to see them.”

Alucius
nodded. “Post sentries outside. Don’t let anyone out but Wendra or me.”

“They
couldn’t create an illusion like you?”

“It
wouldn’t be very good. Any of them who knew me are dead. I don’t think any of
them even know about Wendra. Not yet.”

“It’s
been quite a month, Colonel. Quite a month.”

Not
nearly so much of a month as it would be, reflected Alucius—one way or another.

Just
after late midmorning in Salaan, Alucius and Wendra stood between the archway
to the stairs and the Table. Each had one of the heavy scepters recovered from
the ifrits, but each scepter was strapped to an empty sabre scabbard, secured
with a tie around the leg just above the knee. The power of each scepter, black
and silver, seemed to cast light and shadows, but light and shadows seen only
with Talent.

“You
think the scepters will show us where the master scepter is?” asked Wendra. “The
one the soarer told us to find?”

“I
don’t know, but if it’s a master scepter, it has to be stronger than these, and
we could sense these halfway across Corus, once we knew what we were looking
for.”

“If
it’s not in a case, or shielded,” Wendra pointed out.

“We’ll
have to risk that.”

“Risk
what?” asked Feran, coming down the steps from the conference room.

“Not
being able to do what we have to,” Alucius replied.

“You
look… armed.” Feran’s eyes went to the scepters. “Those… they don’t feel right.”

“They
aren’t. That’s why we need to return them.”

“You’re
not going to explain more, are you?”

“It’s
better that we don’t.”

Feran
raised his eyebrows, but didn’t reply.

In
addition to a scepter, Alucius and Wendra each carried a herder’s rifle. All
the cartridges they carried had been heavily infused with life-force. Alucius
had strapped a cartridge belt over his nightsilk herders’ vest. He had decided
against wearing the heavy riding jacket, based on the heat in the Table
building and the soarer’s statements that the ifrits’ world was far warmer than
Corus. Both he and Wendra carried water bottles as well as travel food within
their garments, and Wendra had folded extra cloth and clothing for Alendra
around and inside her jacket and tunic.

Feran
stepped to one side. “All you want is a guard around the building?”

“That’s
right. Not in here.”

“How
long will you be gone?”

Alucius
shrugged. “I don’t know. A day, a week… If we’re not back in a month, then you’ll
have to worry about the… Talent-twisted ones yourself.” He’d almost said
ifrits, but the word would have meant little to Feran. “Their clothes are like
nightsilk, except stronger. Head shots are best. Right now, I don’t think there
are any left west of the Spine of Corus. There are two Tables in Lustrea, and
an old Table in the ruins of Blackstear, not that there’s any way for the
Northern Guard to reach any of them.”

“What
do we do here, if you… ?” Feran didn’t finish the statement.

Alucius
understood. “Use enough powder to fragment the entire building and drop it
around the Table. Explosives won’t destroy the Table, but rock piled deep on
top of it will keep it from being used.”

“Hope
it doesn’t come to that,” Feran replied.

“So
do we.”

Wendra
offered a tight nod of agreement. Within the carrypack, Alendra waved a small
fist.

Alucius
jumped onto to the Table, then offered a hand to Wendra. She took it, and they
stood side by side on the Table. Alucius nodded to Feran, then concentrated on
the darkness of the translation tube beneath them. He and Wendra began to sink
into the Table.

The purpled blackness of the ifrit tube was every bit as chill as
Alucius had recalled, a bone-biting cold that combined with a sense of
foreboding. He focused on the deep and long purpleness that stretched endlessly
into a faraway depth lost beyond the reach of his thoughts. He pushed away the
idea that, once they pursued that purple tube, they would never return, and
concentrated on reaching whatever lay in the distance, a distance that the
soarers had suggested was farther away than some stars. In the chill of the
purple tube, he sensed warmth
—
Wendra and Alendra
—
streaming with him
.