Corean Chronicles 3 - Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "… took the shot and then killed Fedosyr… with his other hand…"

  "Must have been a duelist…"

  "… never seen someone do that…"

  Alucius stopped short of the marshal. Frynkel's face was impassive.

  "Sir, I regret the last, but I could not afford to allow Majer Fedosyr the opportunity for another shot. By your leave, I would like to get on with the training."

  "You have my leave, Majer. I will ensure that Majer Fedosyr's kin know that he died in overextending himself during a training exercise, one in which he disobeyed Guard policies."

  "As you see fit, sir." Alucius had to struggle to keep the anger out of his voice and wasn't sure he had.

  Frynkel waited, then said, "You may go, Majer."

  "Yes, sir." Alucius stepped back and turned.

  Feran met him on the far side of the open space. "I'd forgotten how good you are with both hands."

  "It helps at times."

  "How badly—" The overcaptain's eyes flicked toward Alucius's shoulder.

  "I'll be bruised on the left side of my chest," Alucius said in a low voice, "and probably from elbow to shoulder. Better that none of them know that."

  "It'll be a long day."

  "It's already been too long. Have all three companies mount and form up here." Alucius turned and walked toward the stable. The lancers parted, leaving a wide aisle. Only when he was past them did the whispers begin.

  "… made Fedosyr look like a recruit…"

  "… see why they wanted him…"

  "… wiped his blade on his tunic…"

  "… looked like he wanted to kill the marshal, too…"

  After he reached the stable, Alucius checked his chest. The vest and the nightsilk undergarments had done their work. Nothing was broken, but the bruises were already beginning.

  After blotting his sweating forehead, taking a long swallow of water from one of his bottles, and readjusting his uniform, Alucius waited a quarter of a glass before he led the gray from the stable out into the courtyard. He mounted and rode to the front of the formation. There he looked at Feran, Captain Deotyr, and Captain Jultyr. He waited for a moment before he raised his voice for all of them to hear. "We'll head out to the maneuver field. Once we're there, we'll break down into two-on-two drills, trainees against Fifth Company. And you will use rattan. You'll have enough bruises to prove that it's no toy. Tomorrow, we'll go back to working on the squad level…"

  As he finished his instructions, Alucius couldn't help but wonder if there weren't an easier way to convince people than with some form of force. He also hoped he could keep moving without betraying the pain and stiffness that was spreading from the impact of Fedosyr's bullet.

  Chapter 41

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  Stiff and sore after finishing the last training exercises on Octdi, Alucius walked into the headquarters building. The marshal had sent a lancer with a message requesting Alucius's presence when his training duties were finished for the day. Alucius anticipated nothing good from the meeting.

  Alucius looked at the ranker behind the desk. "The marshal requested my presence."

  The lancer bolted to his feet. "Yes, sir. He's in the colonel's study, sir. He's expecting you, sir."

  "Thank you." Alucius doubted that he'd ever gotten three "sirs" from a Southern Guard before. It was truly amazing what the application of skill and force could achieve when common sense and courtesy could not prevail. He opened the door and stepped into the study, expecting both the marshal and the colonel, but Frynkel was alone.

  "Please close the door and have a seat, Majer."

  Alucius sat down cautiously.

  From behind the colonel's desk, Frynkel looked at Alucius. "Captain-colonel Omaryk had said that you were not only an officer, but a warrior-leader."

  It took Alucius a moment to recall that Omaryk had been one of those who had debriefed him in Tempre years before. "Warrior-leader, sir?"

  Frynkel laughed wryly. "That's why you've led so much from the front."

  "I've had trouble leading any other way, sir."

  "Just remember this, Majer. All the great war leaders led from the front. Most of them died. There were less than a handful that didn't die in battle, and they founded empires and saved lands."

  There wasn't much Alucius could say to that or wanted to. So he remained silent.

  "I've spent most of the day cleaning up the mess that Majer Fedosyr created. Or rather, explaining that he had overreached himself. I found the pouch of acid-dust. He had more in his quarters. How did you manage to escape that?"

  "I saw him reach for something. It seemed likely that it would be thrown at either my face or my feet."

  "You saw that while you were fighting?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You see more than you tell."

  "Everyone does, sir."

  Frynkel shook his head.

  "I haven't seen the colonel," Alucius ventured, trying to shift the subject and probe as well.

  "I doubt that you will, since he has left Krost Post for his family home in Syan. I asked for and accepted his resignation. He had enough service for a stipend."

  "So I was a tool for that?"

  "Let us say that you helped. It was most useful to be able to point out that Jorynst did not recognize your past contributions. It was even more useful to be able to cite his failure to understand casualty figures. That allowed me to note that a once-distinguished officer had apparently suffered a loss of mental faculties by denying verified and published figures and events." Frynkel's smile was both wry and cold. "I did make sure that several lancers made copies for the files and for dispatches."

  Alucius understood that. Those lancers would spread the word. There was no way to stop that, and Frynkel certainly hadn't wanted it stopped. "And Majer Fedosyr? Was that part of the plan?"

  "Majer Fedosyr has always had an excessive opinion of himself, as well as well-placed friends in Tempre. They have always been rather forceful supporters. I hadn't realized that he had a hidden pistol or that he was foolish enough to use it. If he had killed you, he would have been court-martialed and executed. That would have solved that problem, but I certainly wouldn't have wanted to pay that price to get rid of him." Frynkel looked at Alucius. "You didn't have to kill him. He would have been court-martialed. Why did you?"

  "I wasn't certain of that, sir, and my grandsire always told me that a man who gave a sander or a sandsnake a second chance was a fool and deserved what he got. Majer Fedosyr was a sandsnake, and I felt that it was likely that he'd have gotten away with what he did if I hadn't acted then and there."

  "You may be right, but we'll never know."

  Alucius wasn't about to point out that there had been too much risk in letting Fedosyr live.

  "You made a point with all those lancers. You also set a personal standard that could be hard to live up to."

  "I can't say that I'd thought about that, sir. I did what I thought was right."

  "The Lord-Protector told me that you always did. He also said that such officers were to be used sparingly. The right is too powerful a weapon for frequent use." Frynkel looked directly at Alucius for a long moment. "I'm leaving tomorrow for Tempre. Overcaptain Nybor is temporarily in charge of Krost Post, with orders to support you fully. Even without my orders, I doubt you would have difficulty." Frynkel paused. "Your orders allow you some latitude in when you leave. When you do, you are to proceed directly to Hyalt and not to go to Tempre."

  "I had thought so."

  "You also have complete discretion in Hyalt, and that means that you will be fully accountable."

  Alucius understood that message as well. Hyalt was another opportunity for total personal disaster.

  "When do you intend to leave?" asked the marshal.

  "Londi. I'd thought we'd take a measured pace, with mounted drills every morning and individual weapons practice and drills every evening. The individual practice won't tire the mounts, and if I can instill good habits in ti
red men, they'll hold."

  "You and Overcaptain Feran make a good team."

  "He's very solid and very practical, sir."

  "That seems to be a trait of the north. Along with ruthless idealism implemented pragmatically."

  "For all the procedural niceties, sir, I did not ask for this assignment."

  "I know. It is recorded as my suggestion to the Lord-Protector. If you're successful, we both will profit."

  Alucius didn't see how having to follow Colonel Weslyn would be any great profit to him or to his family—or the stead. He could see all too easily the disasters that would follow if he succeeded to command of the Northern Guard—let alone those that awaited him if he failed earlier.

  "I've been away from Tempre too long," Frynkel continued. "Marshal Wyerl has requested my return so that he can leave to take personal command of the Lord-Protector's forces defending Southgate and the trade highways."

  Alucius nodded.

  "I wish you well, Majer, for both of our sakes, and trust I will see you in Tempre before too long, reporting your success in dealing with the rebels."

  While Alucius understood that the marshal wanted to end the meeting, there were too many unanswered questions. "Sir… there are a few matters…"

  "Yes?"

  "Supplies. The post at Hyalt has been taken. It's unlikely that we can count on local support for rations or feed, at least not much past the south of Tempre. I'd like to request some supply wagons…"

  "In Lanachrona?"

  "Especially in Lanachrona, sir. I would doubt that the Lord-Protector would wish us to forage off his own people…"

  Frynkel took a deep breath. "We can make arrangements. What else?"

  "More information. There are maps, but the only reports we have are a season old. What kind of weapons and mounts do they have? How many are there? Where did they come from?"

  Frynkel shook his head. "You have all the information I have. That's all the information anyone in Lanachrona has. We sent in scouts. Not a one returned. Since the first traders and crafters fled, no one else has appeared coming north or east out of Hyalt."

  "No one?" No one.

  "You expect me, with three companies, to deal with something like this?"

  "I never told you it would be easy, Majer. The Lord-Protector is stretched thin everywhere."

  Just how thin Alucius had not realized. He took a slow breath.

  All in all, he spent another half glass with the marshal before finally saying, "Thank you, sir. We'll do all that we can and appreciate your support." He paused, then asked, "By your leave, sir?"

  "You have my leave and best wishes."

  Alucius rose, trying to make the movement fluid, when he felt anything but graceful. Frynkel said nothing more as Alucius left the study.

  He walked back across the courtyard to his quarters, thinking. Frynkel had used him to solve a problem at Krost Post, exactly as the Lord-Protector was planning to do in Hyalt. That underscored his own problem. He had more planning to consider so that he was not merely reacting when he reached Hyalt, and that meant some intensive study of the maps of the area around Hyalt. The lack of information bothered him, because it strongly suggested the ifrits might be involved. But how could he tell?

  He smiled, faintly, ironically. There was one simple aspect to the day's events. Now that Fedosyr and Jorynst were gone from Krost, Alucius could finish his letter to Wendra and send it off. Again, he pushed aside his worries about her and Alendra. He doubted he'd be sending many dispatches from Hyalt, and for a glass or two of the evening ahead, he didn't want to think deeply about what lay ahead, even if he would have to in the glasses and days before him.

  Chapter 42

  Dekhron, Iron Valleys

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  "Even in harvest, it is chill here," observed Sensat, closing the shutters against the twilight. He moved to the iron stove set against the outside wall of the study, where he opened the stove door and thrust in a generous shovelful of coal before setting the shovel against the hearth wall and propping it against the base of the scuttle.

  "Acorus is a cold world," replied Tarolt. "You knew that."

  "Knowing it in one's mind and feeling the chill seeping into your bones on all but the warmest of summer days are two different matters."

  Sensat pulled one of the chairs closer to the stove and seated himself.

  "It's not just the chill. It's everything." He gestured at the shelves and the books set upon them. "This, this is one of the largest collections of what passes for knowledge in all of Corus. The paintings, they are as child's drawings. The sculpture is crude, raw, unfinished. The buildings are low and squat. Save for the handful of towers surviving from the Duarchy, nothing soars. Nothing challenges the eye or the spirit."

  "If you miss Efra so much, you could chance a return."

  "And risk becoming a wild translation? One world-translation in a lifetime is quite enough." Sensat took a deep breath. "Can I not miss the soaring spires of Deconar? Or the high domes of Peshmenat? Can I not regret not having listened more intently to the lilting compositions of Ghefari?"

  "You can. I miss them as well," Tarolt replied. "But there will be no spires in the future, no music for the ages, no domes that span the skies… not if we do not complete and strengthen the grid. Not if we do not prevent the ancient ones and their tools from again acting against us."

  "Always the ancient ones…"

  "Once-powerful pastoralists, who would try to pass their lack of ambition on to dull steers." Tarolt shook his head. "Steers who have no concept of art, of architecture, of beauty. They would leave their world a dull mudball drying in the eternity of time, accomplishing nothing, striving for nothing, becoming nothing."

  Sensat stood and walked to the stove, opening the door and adding more coal. "You're right. I'm still cold, though."

  "Dull steers worthy only of providing the lifeforce for achievement and glory," Tarolt said quietly. "Remember that."

  Chapter 43

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  Under the soft light of the wall lamp in his quarters, Alucius leaned back in the old wooden chair, ignoring the creaking as his weight shifted, and blotted his forehead. The night was as warm as some summer days on the stead, and he doubted that he'd ever get used to the heat of the south. Places like Hyalt and Soupat—or Southgate—were even warmer. He glanced over at the nightsilk skull mask that lay folded on the corner of the desk. Wearing it in the current weather, even at night, would leave him a mass of sweat. Still… it might prove useful at some point.

  After taking a swallow from the water bottle he had set on the corner of the desk, he eased back forward, studying the map, his eyes following the narrow roads to the west of Hyalt. The map didn't show how high the hills were, or how steeply they might climb into the eastern side of the Coast Range, but from the way the roads curved on the map, it was clear to Alucius that the terrain was anything but level. After a time, he took the calipers and began to measure the distances, writing them down on a sheet of brown paper.

  He had to hope that the maps he had been studying were indeed correct, or mostly so. He'd learned over the years that few were totally accurate, but if the roads he had measured and studied went roughly where the map said they did, then he could at least attempt the strategy he had in mind. Then, too, he told himself, once he got to Hyalt, he might have to rethink everything.

  Would there be more of the strange Talent-creatures in Hyalt? Or was it too far south for them? Or did it matter? While the soarers did not appear in the south, he had the feeling that the creatures associated with the ifrits would not be limited by heat.

  No one seemed to know much about the revolt in Hyalt, except that the followers of the True Duarchy had appeared with weapons early on an end-day morning and slaughtered an unprepared and badly outnumbered garrison. Alucius had decided that a thorough reconnaissance was the first step, including staying well away from the town of Hyalt in the beginning. The more information he could gather before ac
ting, the better.

  His lips quirked into a half smile. He already had a reputation for being almost impulsive and ruthless, and he wasn't sure that he was truly either. Ruthless? The ifrits had been ruthless.

  He paused. Did every effective officer rationalize his actions that way? Did the ifrits?

  After a long silence, he returned to studying the map and making notes.

  When he was finished with the maps for the night, he'd write some more on the letter to Wendra. It was always more pleasant to end the day—or night—thinking of her.

  Chapter 44

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  Alucius studied the small hall in which he found himself, a vacant space ten yards long and half that in width. The walls were of pink marble with a tinge of purple, and at intervals of five yards half pillars were set within the marble—or against the stone. Alucius could not tell which. The stone pillars were of goldenstone, not gilded, but golden throughout. Overhead, slightly more than five yards above him, curved a ceiling of the same pink marble. All of the stone was so precisely fitted that his Talent could detect no sign of joints or of mortar. The floor was of octagonal sections of polished gold and green marble, each section of green marble inset with an eight-pointed star of golden marble, with the narrow arms of the star outlined in a thin line of brilliant—and unfamiliar—metal.

  The walls seemed to have shifted, and Alucius glanced around. There was no one but him in the chamber, and there were no wall hangings. He realized that he had not seen a doorway, and he turned to look behind him. There was no entrance there, either.

  How had he gotten into the chamber? He did not see a Table anywhere.

  Again, there was the sense that the walls had shifted, and Alucius tried to figure out what had happened. He studied the chamber. It was smaller—now only eight yards in length and four wide.

  He took two steps forward and looked back. Nothing had changed, and there were still no doors anywhere.