Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Alucius could imagine that. The Lord-Protector had more than enough problems already.

  “It still doesn’t tell us why this is happening now. Do you have any thoughts on that, Majer?”

  “Something’s happening. It has been going on since Aellyan Edyss and the pteridons. It could have started before that, but it’s been more obvious in the past few years. There were the pteridons used by Edyss, and there were those that attacked us on the Deforyan road. Herders in the Iron Valleys have reported strange kinds of sanders on the steads. The Regent of the Matrial came up with the crystal spear-thrower. There are probably other things I don’t know that you do. According to the histories, none of these things has happened since the Cataclysm.” Alucius shrugged. “It means something. I just don’t know what.” Again, what he said was true. He didn’t know, but he had a feeling that it was all tied to the ifrits, if he could but figure out how and why.

  “You talk about feelings, Majer. What do you feel?”

  Alucius thought for a moment. “It could be that the True Duarchists are right, that the times are changing again, and that there could be another duarchy.”

  “Is that what you feel?”

  Alucius forced a laugh. “I feel that the times are changing. That’s what I feel. How or why…I couldn’t say.”

  Frynkel nodded slowly. “There are limits to those herder feelings.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s why we don’t say much.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Sir,” called Geragt. “The cooks are working on a stew…but it will be more than a glass.”

  “Well…come on and join us. We might as well go over tomorrow’s ride.”

  Alucius had no illusions that the marshal had given up on trying to see if he could use Alucius’s senses as a herder to discover more about the dangers facing Lanachrona and the Lord-Protector. Frynkel wasn’t the kind to give up.

  35

  At Marshal Frynkel’s request, on Londi midmorning, Alucius rode at the head of the column beside the marshal. The sky had cleared and was a brilliant silver-green. A pleasantly warm breeze wafted out of the southwest. Asterta was well above the horizon, but barely visible against the brightness of the sky.

  Frynkel spoke softly, and he did not look at Alucius. “Several years ago, I talked to an overcaptain of the Northern Guard before a dinner at Arms-Commander Wyerl’s home. He seemed intelligent, hardworking, knowledgeable, and extremely skilled in the use of weapons. He was tactful and could disagree so graciously that it was hard to get angry with him. Then, he went to an audience with the Lord-Protector and vanished. Now…this has been known to happen, I hate to admit. The difference was that the Lord-Protector was not relieved, but quietly upset. Several weeks later, the officer returned, unshaven, unkempt, and several other matters came to light. First, there was an explosion in the chamber of the Recorder of Deeds, and the Recorder died. Second, the health of the Lord-Protector’s consort improved greatly, against all medical advice and understanding, and third, the overcaptain was rewarded and discharged as he had requested.”

  Alucius remained silent, wondering where Frynkel was leading.

  “The Lord-Protector has expressed concern about not having the information that the Table once provided, but he has not raged over its absence, even though its lack has created many difficulties for him. Now…we are seeing many manifestations of great Talent in Corus—and the Lord-Protector agreed to the recommendation that the Northern Guard officer be requested to return to duty…”

  Recommendation? Who could have made that recommendation? Alucius wondered, then decided to gamble. He turned in the saddle. “Why did you recommend that?”

  Frynkel smiled. “Someone else made the suggestion. I thought myself wise enough to recognize its wisdom. Does who brought up the idea matter?”

  “It might,” Alucius replied, trying to think through the situation. Neither the Lord-Protector nor the arms-commander would need to recommend anything to Frynkel, and who else even knew what had happened?

  “I had thought that myself, but we examined the idea closely, Marshal Alyniat and I did, and we thought it was good enough to bring before the arms-commander.”

  Alucius almost froze in the saddle as he considered the most likely person to have made that recommendation.

  “You look a bit…pensive, Majer,” mused Frynkel, his tone verging on the ironic.

  Alucius focused his senses and Talent upon the marshal before he spoke again. “Might I ask if the one who suggested this was Waleryn, the brother of the Lord-Protector?”

  “Why would he come to us?” replied Frynkel.

  Because Waleryn must have wanted me away from the Iron Valleys, Alucius wanted to say, and that meant that the Lord-Protector’s brother had been more deeply involved with the ifrits than Alucius had realized. Instead of revealing that, Alucius merely said, “You would know that far better than I, Marshal.”

  “And I had to ask myself,” the marshal went on, as if he had not asked Alucius anything, “why would the Lord-Protector so readily accept the mere hope of services of a relatively obscure officer, enough to send a marshal on a journey of some five hundred vingts?”

  Alucius waited, glancing at the long and straight road ahead, and at the scouts who rode a half vingt ahead.

  Frynkel turned in the saddle, fixing his deep black eyes on Alucius.

  “It wasn’t a hope, Marshal,” Alucius answered. “If we wish to be honest, I must point out that it would have been foolish, if not idiotic, for me to refuse that request. You know that, and so do I.”

  “Ah…” Frynkel continued. “That is even more to the point. And how does a former officer who is a herder know this?”

  “Because he is a herder. Because the prices of nightsilk reveal more than any talk by officers or officials. Prices and their future contracts do not lie.” Not for long, Alucius temporized silently.

  For a moment, Frynkel was silent.

  “People tend to forget that herders operate a business that relies not only upon unique animals, but also upon equipment and processes with very high operating costs. We have to look to the seasons and years ahead. A herder who does not will lose his stead.”

  “In that case, to what do you, as both herder and officer, ascribe your presence here? And mine?”

  “More than a few people of power wish me here,” Alucius replied. “That is most clear and does not require any great foresight.”

  “And why would they wish you here?” Frynkel pursued.

  “The Lord-Protector and, I presume, the arms-commander wish me here because they trust I can deal with the revolt in a way that will not weaken Lanachrona’s defenses against the Regent of the Matrial.”

  “And what of others? Say, Lord Waleryn, since you did mention him.”

  “He wishes me here for his own purposes, which are not those of the Lord-Protector.”

  “I see you share the high opinion of Lord Waleryn held by a few others.”

  Alucius did not respond, since he had not actually been asked a question.

  “What purposes might be ascribed to Lord Waleryn?”

  “Anything that might enhance his stature or power.”

  “So he wishes you to fail, you think?”

  “He may, but I would think he would prefer that I succeed, and that he judges my success will achieve the result he desires.”

  “For a comparatively young officer, you are cynical, Majer. Now…there is one other matter that has troubled me. The matter of the Table. The Table seemed impervious to most damage. If the records are correct, on more than one occasion over the centuries, large blocks of stone fell on it, yet it showed no damage. Then, seemingly for no reason at all, it exploded. And you returned to the palace. Equally striking is the fact that the destruction of the Table was taken so calmly by the Lord-Protector.”

  Alucius shrugged. “I only met the Lord-Protector briefly, but he struck me as a man who would not brood or rage over what he could not control.” He h
oped—vainly, he suspected—that the marshal would not continue his probing for the rest of the journey to Tempre.

  “That may be, but what role did you play in the Table’s destruction?”

  “Just how could I destroy something that had lasted centuries?” Alucius laughed. “You do me far too much honor, Marshal. I am a herder. I do know a little about Talent. All herders do, but I know nothing about how such a Table might work, and, in truth, I did not even know such a thing existed before I came to Tempre.”

  “I had hoped you would. There were reports that you were the one who dragged Lord Waleryn to safety when the Table exploded.”

  “I can tell you in all honesty,” Alucius replied, “that I do not know how a Table works, but I pledged the Lord-Protector that I would say nothing to anyone about the task he assigned me. I can say that he did not task me with anything involving the Table or its use.”

  “So he did have a task for you.”

  Alucius nodded.

  “And you will not say more?”

  “Not unless the Lord-Protector requests that I do, and I would not do so unless he did so in person.”

  “You are indeed cynical, Majer.” Frynkel shook his head, then gestured to his left at the long expanse of rolling meadows, with grass still green, despite the harvest season. “Now…do you know why that expanse to our left is called The Folds?”

  “I had not heard the name, sir.”

  “It’s called that because in the early years of Lanachrona all the herders gathered their herds and flocks to winter over…”

  Alucius refrained from taking a deep breath. The ride to Krost was long, and getting longer.

  36

  Alucius spent at least half of each of the next four travel days riding with the marshal, who had come up with what seemed hundreds of ways to approach the same set of questions—just what had Alucius been doing for the Lord-Protector and what did it have to do with the destroyed Table?

  On two of the nights, the companies had slept out on very hard ground, in areas posted for lancers. South of Borlan the flatlands had turned into rolling hills that were far more lush, and in the bottomland between the hills were more meadows still green even in early harvest. The fields were bringing forth beans, maize, oilseeds, and the hillsides carried vingt upon vingt of almond orchards. The wooden stead houses and outbuildings were as well kept and numerous as Alucius recalled, and the high-road traffic was even thicker than he remembered.

  With the warmer and moister air, Alucius had gone back to drinking more and more from his water bottles, and by late afternoon, his uniform was damper than he would have liked from all the perspiration.

  Late on Quinti afternoon, Alucius, Feran, and Fifth Company, following Eighth Company, were approaching Krost from the north, nearing the post where he was supposed to add two recently trained companies to his force. Southeast of Krost were the hills covered in rows of staked green vines, the northernmost of the wine-producing Vyan Hills, as Alucius recalled. Directly ahead was the crossroads where the two high roads intersected. At the crossroads, they would turn west to reach Krost Post.

  “How good do you think these trainees are?” asked Feran.

  “Not so good as they should be,” replied Alucius. “Nor as good as they will be, between the two of us.” He grinned and turned in the saddle. “And Egyl.”

  “Sir…” protested the senior squad leader.

  Alucius gave an exaggerated shrug before turning back to look at Feran.

  “You’re going to have another problem…sir,” Feran ventured.

  “The way you tacked on the honorific, overcaptain, says I’m going to have a significant problem. Pray tell me.” Alucius smiled.

  Feran smiled back. “They’re barely more than trainees. They don’t know squat about anything. They’ve been told for years that the Northern Guard is a ragtag outfit of herders who had to be bailed out by the Lord-Protector.” Feran held up his left hand. “We know it’s not true, and probably whoever’s been training them lately hasn’t been saying that, but I’d wager that’s what they all believe.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ve been thinking about that. It’s going to be hard on the trainees, but we’ll set that right.”

  “Oh? Just like that, sir?”

  “Just like that,” Alucius replied. “We’ll run a company-on-company exercise, and we’ll use rattan blades, and you’ll let it be known to Fifth Company the way the trainees probably feel. Or Egyl and the squad leaders will.”

  Feran winced.

  “And then, I’ll take on whoever thinks he’s the best blade in the trainees.”

  “What if he’s really good, a former duelist?”

  “I doubt I’ll have to. Someone that good won’t be in with trainees. If he is, I’ll cheat,” Alucius said bluntly. “He won’t know it, though.”

  “Whatever happened to that innocent young officer who believed in doing the right thing?”

  “I still believe in doing the right thing. I hope I’m not quite so naive.” Alucius looked southward, taking in the three tall chimneys that marked the glassworks, then, to the southeast, south of the other high road, the odd-shaped hill that had been cut away for the sand that fed the glassworks.

  “Then, there’s hope for us all.” Feran laughed sardonically.

  Ahead of Fifth Company, the marshal and Eighth Company had reached the crossroads in the center of Krost and turned westward. Fifth Company followed along the high roads that ran amid the old buildings, several as much as four stories tall.

  The marshal had clearly sent someone ahead to announce their arrival because, once they followed Eighth Company through the wide stone gates of Krost Post, just west of the city, a full squad was lined up to welcome them, with a senior squad leader in the front. Alucius, Feran, and Fifth Company had reined up barely inside the gates of the post when three officers in blue-and-cream uniforms hurried out into the paved courtyard and stiffened before Marshal Frynkel.

  Almost as quickly, a young-faced Southern Guard captain hurried at not quite a run past Eighth Company and came to attention opposite Alucius. “Captain Zenosyr, sirs. The captain-colonel asked me to make sure you and your men are settled in.”

  “Captain-colonel Jesopyr?” asked Alucius.

  “No, sir. He was sent to Madrien in command of three companies. Captain-colonel Jorynst is post commander.”

  “I’m Majer Alucius, and this is Overcaptain Feran. He commands Fifth Company.”

  “Majer, Overcaptain.” Zenosyr bowed his head briefly, then smiled and gestured. “You must have had a long ride. The front section of the stable is set aside for your lancers. I’ll just walk with you. It’s not that far.”

  Alucius refrained from saying that he’d been at Krost Post before, and merely nodded.

  Fifth Company followed the captain to the massive stable, which had spaces for close to four hundred mounts. It was far more crowded than the last time Alucius had passed through, and only about a quarter of the stalls were vacant. The other stable appeared almost as full. From the stable, while Feran dealt with the squad leaders, Alucius carried his gear back across the courtyard, following the young captain to a two-story graystone structure a good hundred yards in length and up a set of steps to the upper level containing the officers’ quarters.

  Zenosyr opened the third door. “These are a colonel’s quarters, but as a force commander with three companies, you rate them. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

  “I will, Captain, but I think it’s unlikely.”

  “The captain-colonel would request your presence at the supper honoring the marshal in about a glass and a half.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Once the captain left, Alucius frowned, thinking. It was clear that the captain had no real idea who Alucius was, other than another majer. While Alucius was well aware that fame vanished quickly, he would have thought that someone might have briefed the captain, and he had to wonder why it had not been done.

/>   He glanced around the room—a good ten yards by four—with an antique desk, a double-width bed of equally ancient vintage, a double armoire, a carved weapons-and-boot rack, wide, shuttered windows, and an attached washroom. It could have been the same room he’d been in before, although he thought that room had been closer to the headquarters building.

  He decided to get cleaned up. He could puzzle over the strangeness as he did. First, he racked his weapons and hung up his clothes and gear before heading to the washroom with the tub and the spigot that provided ample volumes of lukewarm water. When he had finished washing himself, he washed out dirty uniforms and garments, then dressed and seated himself at the antique desk.

  The last times he had passed through, the post that could have held between ten and fifteen full companies had housed only a company or a company and a half in residence. Now, it was more than half-full, but the honest Captain-colonel Jesopyr was gone. Had all the officers been transferred? That might explain why no one knew Alucius. Abruptly, he laughed. Why would anyone have cause to know him? “You’re taking yourself too seriously,” he said in a low voice to himself.

  With a smile, he set to work writing out the exercises he planned to use to test the Southern Guard companies he would be commanding. He was still writing when there was a knock on the door.

  “Alucius?” called Feran.

  “Come on in.”

  The older officer slipped inside the quarters. “Not bad. It’s about twice the size of my pantry.” He paused. “We are supposed to add two companies here, aren’t we? Wasn’t that what you told me?”

  “That’s what the marshal told me.”

  “That captain’s senior squad leader wanted to know if we were being sent west to fight the Matrites. I said that we had another fighting assignment. He just nodded.”

  “Captain Zenosyr didn’t seem to know who I was and why we were here. I didn’t tell him. I thought it might be more interesting to see what happens at supper.” Alucius closed the folder that held his draft plans and orders, pushed back the armless desk chair, and stood.