Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Alucius fired at another of the beasts—and hit it. A blast of blue flame washed toward the left side of Fifth Company’s first squad. While Alucius could feel the heat, the flames died short of the lancers. He targeted two more of the cats, but it took three shots to get the second.

  “Watch the cats!” Alucius ordered, trying to infuse the cartridges of the marksmen and of the lancers around him with blackness as he reloaded the second rifle.

  Another horned beast flared into blue flame, just at the edge of the eternastone, but at the rear of Eighth Company.

  Alucius snapped off another shot and was rewarded with another blue explosion. Then he concentrated on three cats that streaked toward first squad.

  The last one skidded to a halt less than a yard from the western edge of the road, flaring into a sudden blue flame. Even before those flames died away, more of the black cat-creatures appeared, striking the column from all angles, coming in low and slashing at the legs of mounts and men.

  Alucius forced himself to concentrate on two things—his own shooting and supplying darkness to the cartridges of those around him. In time—how long it was Alucius didn’t know—he shot the last cat, then lowered his rifle.

  For all the chaos and the slashing attacks, there were fewer bodies strewn on the shoulder of the highway and amid the column than Alucius had feared—at least among Fifth Company. He looked ahead and could see charred bodies of both Southern Guards and their mounts, perhaps as many as two full squads along a half-vingt stretch of eternastone.

  Alucius surveyed the fields on both sides of the road. In places, the wooden rail fences had been burned through, and in others merely broken. There was no sign of any of the creatures, save for large patches of burned ground and the black smoke that rose in thin trails from the seared ground on both sides of the eternastone road.

  “Have Egyl find out our casualties and report back,” Alucius told Feran. “I’m sure the marshal will want to know—when we catch up to them.”

  “Egyl?”

  “He’s already headed back, sir,” called Elbard.

  “Thank you.” Feran looked at Alucius and said in a lower voice, “This was worse than coming out of Deforya.”

  Alucius nodded, his face bleak. “More of the sandoxes, and I’ve never seen anything quite like those cats.”

  “Quite like?” Feran’s eyebrows lifted.

  “They looked like jet-black dustcats.” Alucius forced himself to reload both rifles, overriding the trembling in his fingers. Only then did he holster the rifles and take a long swallow from his water bottle. He realized that he felt light-headed…and very tired. He pushed the tiredness away.

  “I’d hoped that all we’d have to deal with would be angry peasants and religious zealots,” Feran said, “not more Talent-creatures from the time of the Duarchy.”

  “The marshal said they wanted to bring back the True Duarchy,” Alucius said. “I hope these weren’t what they had in mind.”

  Feran snorted. “People don’t know when they’re well-off.” After a moment, he added, “You don’t really think this had anything to do with the rebellion in Hyalt?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know how it could, but they’ve got priests of some sort, and Aellyan Edyss found a way to call up pteridons. Maybe these rebels could too…” Alucius shrugged, turning in the saddle to look back northward along the road. He could see Egyl riding toward them.

  “Majer…you know I never liked it when you said things like that the last time you had an impossible assignment.”

  “I know, Feran. I don’t like having those thoughts, either. But why would anyone bring Talent-creatures against us in the middle of Lanachrona? If the Regent could summon those, I’m certain she’d use them against our forces actually in Madrien.”

  “Same thing’d be true of the Deforyan Council or the Praetor,” Feran pointed out.

  Alucius did not mention the other possibility—that the ifrits were to blame—because he couldn’t prove that they even existed, let alone that they had sent the creatures against the two companies. Yet that possibility was as likely as the priests of the True Duarchy having unleashed the beasts.

  Egyl reined up. “Sir, Majer…we lost four men in fifth squad at the rear, and two others in second squad. Ten men with burns, but it looks like they’ll be all right.”

  “Mounts?” asked Feran. “Supply wagons?”

  “They didn’t go after the wagons, and anytime they got one of our men, they got the mount, too.”

  “Do what you can, and let me know when we’re ready to ride on,” Feran said.

  “Won’t be long, sir. There’s…well…not much left if one of those things got a man. Just a greasy black patch.”

  Alucius looked forward again, southward along the road. Eighth Company appeared to have halted about a vingt south of Fifth Company and was regrouping. As he watched, he could see a rider moving away from the rear of the Southern Guard column and northward toward Fifth Company.

  “I think I’ll ride forward and see the marshal,” Alucius told Feran. “Once you’ve got things settled, have Fifth Company rejoin Eighth.”

  “Yes, sir.” Feran offered a ragged grin. “Better you than me meeting with the marshal, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Alucius replied dryly, easing the gelding forward.

  As Alucius rode southward, he ate some travel bread, and that helped with the dizziness. He also counted more than twenty charred patches on the stones and the roadside, but, as had been the case with the nightsheep killed by the Talent-pteridons, the corpses had vanished or burned away.

  Some of the Southern Guards glanced at him as he rode past them toward the front of the column, but they were silent, almost as if stunned.

  “Marshal, sir,” Alucius said, reining up two yards short of the senior officer.

  “Majer.” Frynkel nodded, paused for a moment, before asking, “What were your losses?”

  “Six men dead, ten burned, but not badly.”

  “Eighth Company lost almost thirty, most in the last two squads.” The marshal’s eyes fixed on Alucius. “You didn’t have your men charge those creatures. Why not?”

  “We’d already found that didn’t work. On the way back from Deforya. It was in my report, sir. If they touch a lancer, he usually bursts into flame. It’s not a good idea to get too close. They’re also faster than a mount. Massed fire works better.” Alucius waited.

  “I thought it might be something like that.” Frynkel tightened his lips. “Have your force rejoin us. I’ll debrief you tonight at the way station at Ghetyr.”

  “Yes, sir.” Alucius turned the gray back northward and rode on the eastern edge of the stone pavement, past Eighth Company and toward Fifth. He was not looking forward to discussing the attack with the marshal. Not at all. And he still worried about Wendra, and why there had been a flash just before the Talent-creatures had appeared around him.

  33

  North of Iron Stem, Iron Valleys

  Wendra reined up at the top of a low rise. The hazy clouds overhead cut off most of the heat from the afternoon sun, but since there was no wind, she had left her herder’s jacket open. To the west, still almost fifteen vingts away, was the base of the Aerlal Plateau. The top of the Plateau was lost in hazy clouds.

  Cloudy weather, especially stormy weather, often encouraged greater sandwolf stalking of the nightsheep, but usually light clouds did not. Still, Wendra continued to study the gradual slope below her, and especially the wash farther to the southeast.

  Most of the flock was but fifty yards downslope from where she viewed the nightsheep. Somewhat farther to the north were three young nightrams that sparred with each other, not for dominance, but for practice for the time when they would fight in earnest, unless stopped by Wendra or Royalt. After making sure that the sparring was only that, Wendra turned and studied the slope to her right where a handful of older ewes grazed and moved slowly toward the main body of the flock.

  From nowhere, a shiverin
g line of reddish purple flared to her left. She had not seen it, but sensed it and turned in the saddle, drawing her rifle out of its holder as she did. Almost as quickly, as she eased her mount around, she infused the cartridges in the magazine and chamber with darkness.

  Four dark forms swarmed over the ridge to the north of her, moving swiftly on a line between the three young nightrams and Wendra. As if sensing the purple-dark sanders, shadowed in unseen blue and without lifethreads, the three nightrams turned and formed a vee facing the oncoming danger.

  Carefully, Wendra squeezed off her first shot, aimed at the lead sander. Her aim was true, and she targeted the second. But the first flared into a pillar of fire, and the force of that flare of blue flames pushed the second sideways. Then the remaining three turned southward and began to sprint toward Wendra.

  She squeezed off a third shot and then a fourth, and the second sander fell. With her fifth shot so did the third.

  But the last Talent-sander was less than twenty yards from Wendra, and she doubted that she could reload in time.

  Desperately, she threw out a line of Talent-fire. The sander reeled back, but remained upright. She tried a second probe, but the sander struggled forward.

  Did she need bullets for lifeforce darkness?

  With the Talent-sander less than ten yards from her, Wendra formed another Talent-probe, this one tipped with as much darkness as she could gather, and thrust it as hard as she could at the oncoming creature. As she did, she knew that what she tried had to work…or she would turn into a mass of blue flames.

  Less than a yard from her, the dark sander halted, as if stopped by a wall, shuddered, and then seemed to shrivel.

  Wendra urged the chestnut sideways and back away from the slowly toppling and shrinking form that abruptly burst into flame. Warmth cascaded across her left side, warmth that faded as she and her mount moved away from the Talent-fire.

  Wendra reined up, studying the slope. She was shivering and breathing heavily, but there were no sandwolves and none of the dark sanders remaining, only four trails of thin black smoke rising in the still air from four patches of oily black residue on the sandy red soil.

  Belatedly, and silently berating herself for being so slow, Wendra reloaded the rifle.

  As she slipped the last cartridge into the magazine, another single sharp purple feeling jabbed at her from somewhere, and was gone.

  Wendra glanced around quickly, but the hazy clouds above the stead remained unchanged. The three younger nightrams had eased back to the main flock, and the ewes had closed up, with the rams forming a loose perimeter around the flock. But, so far as she could see or Talent-sense, there were neither sanders, nor soarers, nor sandwolves. Nor were there any more of the strange Talent-creatures.

  She continued to watch and sense, but nothing happened, and the nightsheep began to graze once more, if cautiously. So why had she felt the stab of purpled emptiness after she had killed the dark sanders that had not felt like sanders?

  After a moment, she eased off the glove on her left hand and studied the black crystal of the herder’s ring. She sensed nothing, but she knew she had felt something. Or had Alucius felt something?

  The crystal was warm, and there was no sense of danger or pain, as had been the case when he had been injured. She replaced her glove and studied the flock.

  Alucius was all right. Of that she was confident. But she still worried, both about him and about the dark sanders—and why they had come after her. Because they were replacing the older, more greenish sanders? Or because she had become more adept with Talent? Or both?

  34

  Before even thinking about seeking out the marshal for debriefing, Alucius made sure that Fifth Company was settled into the way station at Ghetyr—two buildings within a stockade with a well and watering troughs. The lancers’ barracks consisted of little more than a long shed with straw mattresses on plank platforms. At the west end of the barracks were the officers’ quarters—six cubicles without doors. Each officer’s cubicle had a bunk platform with a straw mattress, a stool, and two planks attached to the wall and supported by timbers to serve as a writing desk. The other building was the long stable, with a roof that had seen far better days and probably leaked.

  After having groomed the gray and left his gear in one cubicle, Alucius went to find Marshal Frynkel. The marshal was not in the barracks building or in the stable. Alucius found both the marshal and Captain Geragt standing in the last light of a setting sun in the northeast corner of the stockade, well away from anyone else. Alucius stopped a good five yards away.

  “Majer, come and join us,” Frynkel called.

  “I didn’t wish to intrude, sir.”

  “You aren’t. We were talking about those…creatures.”

  “Wild sandoxes. Or Talent-infused sandoxes,” Alucius said as he joined the other two.

  “You think so?”

  “They’re close to the ancient illustrations, except for the horns,” Alucius said. “They’re bigger, too, I think.”

  “You’d run across both types of creatures before?”

  “No, sir. We were attacked by wild pteridons and wild sandoxes on the return from Deforya. Until today, I’d never seen those giant black cats.”

  “They look familiar…somehow,” mused Frynkel.

  “They look like a dustcat might, if it were larger and black, with longer claws.”

  “Thank you. I knew I’d seen a drawing or something like them.” Frynkel nodded, as if relieved to recall the similarity. “Why do you think the creatures are supported by Talent or magic or whatever?”

  “Well…” Alucius paused for a moment before continuing. “Because they have a feel that’s similar, but not the same, to soarers and sanders—and to the pteridons that Aellyan Edyss had. And they react the same way as the pteridons did when they were killed—exploding in those blue flames.” He tilted his head. “It could be something else. I don’t know for certain, but that’s what they seem to be.”

  “I must admit…when I read your report several years ago…I had some doubts about your encounter on the return from Dereka.” Frynkel laughed harshly. “I would rather have not had to confirm personally that such creatures do exist.”

  Geragt offered an affirming nod.

  Frynkel looked at the Southern Guard captain. “If you wouldn’t mind inquiring about whether the cooks are going to fix something, or whether we’re on field rations…?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see what I can find out.” With a smile of relief, Geragt nodded, turned, and departed.

  Geragt’s sense of relief confirmed for Alucius his feeling that Frynkel had not been totally pleased with Geragt about something, probably his handling of the Talent-creatures.

  Frynkel waited until the other officer was well away before speaking again. “Majer, as I mentioned earlier, I noticed that you and your men were ready for those creatures. I also noted that the shots from Eighth Company seemed to have little effect.”

  “Yes, sir. Part of that was because I’m a herder. We learn to listen to our feelings. I felt something was going to happen. I couldn’t have said what. So I called a drill for a formation I’d found useful on the Deforyan campaign. That was to bring forward the best marksmen so that they would be in position. I’d have to say that the reason our shots had more effect was that we use larger shells. They don’t carry as far as those used by the Southern Guard, but we found them to be more effective against the pteridons at Dereka.”

  Frynkel chuckled. “Why is it that everything you say makes perfect sense, and that I’m certain that I’m still not getting the full story?”

  “Because you’re not,” Alucius admitted. “I can’t explain to you why I feel what I do.” That was absolutely true, but not in the way that Alucius hoped Frynkel would take it. “I don’t think any herder could explain why we feel what we do. We’ve survived because of what we can sense and feel. That’s one reason why the Northern Guard has used those off of herder steads as scouts for ge
nerations. But it’s not a skill that necessarily works well as part of a larger organization. Can you imagine my trying to explain to you that I have feelings that you should heed? In the middle of a battle?”

  This time, the marshal laughed more loudly. “I see your point. I also see why the Lord-Protector wanted you in charge of a force. You need the freedom to follow those feelings, and he needs the ability not to be directly responsible.” He paused. “How did you manage with Majer Draspyr?”

  For a moment, Alucius was lost, not following the marshal’s question, before he caught the connection between it and the majer who had led the combined expedition into Deforya years earlier. “I acted, then explained. Majer Draspyr needed results, sir.”

  “I suppose that’s why—” Frynkel broke off his sentence. “Never mind that. Can you explain why those creatures appeared in the middle of Lanachrona and attacked us?”

  “Explain? No, sir. I suppose it’s possible that the priests or whoever is behind the rebels of the True Duarchy found a way to call up these creatures and send them against their enemies. How they would know where we are or how to send them against us I have no idea.” Alucius thought the idea was possible, but he doubted that was the reason, or the sole reason, behind the appearance of the Talent-creatures. Yet he also didn’t see why the ifrits would send such Talent-creatures against Alucius himself when he was leading a force large enough to destroy the beasts.

  “Neither do I, but that makes more sense than anything else. I don’t like it, and the Lord-Protector will like it even less.”