Alucius turned the chestnut. Feran was right. In the middle of the wall of each palace that faced the “square” was an arched gate. Most were now open or ajar. After slowly looking in both directions, overwhelmed in a way by the empty grandeur of the abandoned palaces, Alucius turned his mount back toward the inner area, conscious of the fact that they were the only ones in sight.
Slowly, he reached out gingerly with his Talent to examine the whitestone circle. He shuddered. The stone, only the whitestone, was dead, dead in the same sense that the layer in the ground beneath Southgate was dead. He rode toward the nearest stele, noting that something had been carved upon it.
“Southgate’s been here for a long time, from what those buildings look like,” observed Feran, keeping pace with Alucius.
“A long time.” Alucius rode closer to the stele, catching sight of a series of scenes sculpted into the stone. He reined up less than a yard from the stele and began to study the scenes. The bottom row showed men toiling—building a wall, building a ship, plowing a field, presumably set outside the city walls. The three images above that showed men riding, hunting, and fighting another force. There was a single wider image above those—it showed thirteen men seated at a table, each holding a scepter. Alucius looked more closely. Standing directly in the center, in back of the seated men, was a sculpted figure that resembled the ifrit in his infrequent dreams—the same features, although the stone did not convey the stark whiteness of the skin, the purple eyes, or the jet-black hair. That figure stood behind the center seltyr, the only one who sat on something resembling a throne. The ifrit figure was not threatening, not carrying a weapon, just there.
Alucius frowned.
“What is it?” asked Feran.
“Just thinking. This is an old city, perhaps as old as Tempre or Dereka, or as old as Iron Stem or Dekhron.”
“Most cities in Corus are old.” Feran laughed. “Who ever heard of a new city?”
“This city has no eternastone and no green towers within the walls.”
“So?”
“Name me another city that doesn’t. Even Iron Stem has a green tower. Dekhron has eternastone roads and the bridge. Tempre and Dereka have buildings and towers. So does Krost. The others at least have eternastone roads running through them.”
Feran didn’t reply for several moments.
“And there’s no one in this central area,” Alucius added. “Not a beggar, not a thief. No one.”
“It means something, but what? That everyone hated the seltyrs so much that they don’t ever want to be here? The palaces had to be for the seltyrs. Could be that they took everything, and there’s nothing left to loot.”
“It could be,” Alucius agreed. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy at times. He looked at Feran. “We ought to head back.”
“Are you all right? You’re a little pale. Maybe we shouldn’t have ridden this far.”
“It’s only a few vingts. I’ll be fine.” Alucius turned the chestnut.
As he rode back, he was conscious that he was weaker than he’d thought, and that he’d probably ridden farther than he should have. But he wasn’t going to get any stronger doing nothing. And he hated being weak.
He was also conscious that Southgate was more—and less—than it seemed, and that he was too tired to figure out what he was missing. He’d have to sleep on it.
“You’re tired.”
“A little,” Alucius admitted.
“It’s not that far.”
Alucius managed a smile. He would ride back, and he wouldn’t fall out of the saddle. No matter what.
98
On Quattri, sometime in the dimness before dawn, Alucius woke abruptly, pain slashing from his wristguard through his arm. So sudden was the feeling that he was disoriented. After several moments, he struggled awake and into a sitting position, but the pain had vanished. He touched his forearm gently, but there was no soreness, and he’d been far less bruised there than across his chest.
He puzzled over the sudden pain, wondering, when another contracting pain radiating from the herder’s wristguard, followed by a flash of lifeforce from the black crystal.
Wendra…what was happening to her?
He swallowed. It had to be. She was in labor. She was having their daughter…and he was a thousand vingts away. He should have been there. And he might have been…if only, if only he hadn’t thought that he had no choices. Or if only he hadn’t been struck down.
Another of the hazards of leading from the front? Or of feeling indispensable?
Another wave of pain washed over his forearm, slightly removed, perhaps because he now understood what it was. Yet, even removed…it was far from pleasant, especially when his own tender muscles tightened involuntarily.
If he were with Wendra, then he knew he would have been able to help if anything went wrong. That would have been something beneficial and lifegiving from his Talent. But…from afar, there was nothing he could do, nothing but wait, and watch and sense the crystal…and hope that she and Alendra would both be all right.
He eased his way from his bed to the window, pulling back the shutters and looking out into the darkness. He saw nothing, but he did not need to see.
All he could do now was wait and hope.
99
By Octdi morning, as he sat at the writing desk, trying to write a letter to Wendra, Alucius was certain that she was well and that, by extension, so was Alendra. He just had to hope that everything else was going well for her, Alendra, and the stead.
“Sir?” A Southern Guard squad leader had knocked on the door and stood there.
Alucius set the pen in the holder, turned, then rose. “Yes?”
“Begging your pardon, Colonel sir, Marshal Alyniat was wondering if you would be willing to ride out to meet with him at his headquarters.”
Alucius used his Talent to study the man, but could detect neither malice nor deception—just apprehension. “I’d be happy to see the marshal. My mount is in the stable here, but I’ll need a little help saddling him.” He looked down at his still-splinted arm.
“Yes, sir. We can help.”
Alucius could see that there was indeed help when he made his way down the stairs and out to the stable and discovered that he had an escort of half a squad. Two of them had already groomed and saddled the chestnut.
“Thought you wouldn’t mind, sir,” said the Southern Guard lancer who had led out Alucius’s mount.
“Not these days. Thank you.” Alucius still could mount easily, and did so.
They rode out the villa gates two abreast, Alucius to the right of the squad leader.
“Have you seen any more of the Matrites in the last week?” Alucius asked, after a time, as they turned off the street and through the gates in the city wall, and onto the high road to Fola—and the Southern Guard encampment—if it still happened to be there.
“No, sir. Not around here. They say they’ve pulled back to Hafin and Salcer. ’Course, that’s just until they build up their forces. They’ll be back. Always have been, anyways.”
Alucius was afraid the squad leader was all too right in his assessment. “It seems that way.”
Still worried about Wendra and Alendra, he said little on the nearly ten-kay ride out to the road fort. Most of the companies that had been camped around the main road fort were no longer there. Some, like Alucius’s three companies, had been quartered in Southgate. Others, he suspected, had been moved northward or to Zalt and other posts closer to the Matrite forces. He could see only what looked to be two companies in bivouac on the slope below the stone fort.
Alucius reined up outside the arched entrance inside the fort.
“We’ll just wait for you, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alucius dismounted and made his way past the sentries.
“…hard to believe…say he’s killed something like three thousand men personally…”
Alucius tried not to wince. The number was either far too high or far too low, dependi
ng on what one meant by “personally.”
He had to take the stairs more slowly than usual, and he could feel the eyes on him as he walked along the west side of the marshaling hall. With his Talent, he could even catch a few phrases.
“…three/four weeks, walking…”
“…Foysyr said he’s seen dead men looked better…blood everywhere…”
“…good thing he’s ours…”
“…good thing for the marshal…otherwise, he’d have ended up blood soup like Wyerl…”
Alucius stopped outside Alyniat’s doorway.
“Just a moment, sir.” The lancer turned. “Colonel Alucius is here, sir.”
“Have him come in.”
The marshal stood as Alucius walked in. “Colonel. Please take a seat.” The circles remained under Alyniat’s eyes, but they were not quite so black, and his silver blond hair was longer and disheveled. He brushed it back off his forehead as he reseated himself behind the stack of maps.
“Colonel…you look well.”
“Thank you.” Alucius wasn’t about to mention that he was still sore in too many spots, especially around his ribs.
“How long before you can ride?”
“I’m riding now,” Alucius pointed out. “The healer thinks I can trade the heavy splint for a brace early next week, and I could certainly ride then. It will be a while longer before I can lift a blade or handle a rifle.”
“But you could ride back to Tempre next week?”
“If I don’t have to fight.” Alucius smiled politely. “Are you saying that I actually might be able to return to the Iron Valleys?”
Alyniat stood momentarily and extended a sealed envelope. “This arrived late last night.”
Alucius took the envelope, broke the double seal, and began to read.
Colonel Alucius—
The Lord-Protector was most gratified to hear of your successes in destroying the Matrite spear-throwers and distressed to have learned of the extent of your injuries. Later reports of your progress have cheered him greatly, and he would like to extend an invitation for you and your three companies to return to Tempre at your earliest convenience, but not earlier than prudent in your recovery. He extends his personal best wishes, and hopes for your early and complete recovery, as does the Lady Alerya.
You will, of course, be honored once more, and the Lord-Protector would hope that you would accept an invitation to supper in his private apartments once you have returned to Tempre…
The missive was signed by Frynkel and bore both his seal and that of the Lord-Protector.
Alucius understood clearly the last paragraph—both the honor and the likely conditions that might come with it. He looked to the marshal.
“I also received a letter, saying that you would receive a request to return to Tempre with all three companies, and that you would be honored upon that return. Is that…?”
“Yes, sir. Whenever I feel that I can ride.” Alucius smiled faintly. “I’d say next week, once the heavy splint is off.” It wasn’t really the splint, but he hoped that his ribs would be better by then. Only two of them ached any longer—most of the time. At times, all four did.
“That would be good.” Alyniat paused. “I will offer my own thanks once more, Colonel. In addition to the destruction of the crystal spear-throwers, you and your companies accounted for the deaths of more than ten Matrite companies. Your actions have changed the entire balance of power here in the southwest. For that, both personally and professionally, I am most grateful.”
“Thank you, sir. I am sorry that there was no way to capture either weapon. The way that they were built meant that they could not be disabled—only destroyed.” Alucius cleared his throat. “That’s not quite accurate. They could be captured, but only when they were not in use, and we could never get close enough with sufficient force when they were not in use.”
“Do you think they could build another?”
“I would judge it is possible. It will take at least a year, and possibly longer, based on what I know.”
“A year…” mused Alyniat. “Two at most.”
“You could prepare…”
“How?” Alyniat’s eyes fixed on Alucius.
“The spear-thrower is not terribly effective against stone. Rebuild the gates to your key forts so that the spear-thrower cannot be used against anything wooden. Perhaps a stone wall ten yards in front of the gates and wide enough that the spear-thrower could not be used at an angle. It cannot be used without a great deal of sand. That suggests that it will be most effective in the north in warmer weather. Also, the Matrites are not nearly so effective in small groups. I would send raider groups into their territories and pick off as many patrols as possible. The greater the losses now, the longer before they can build up the forces necessary to protect a spear-thrower for its use.” Alucius almost shrugged, but managed to stop the gesture—knowing that it would have been painful.
“What else?”
“If…if they do rebuild one, it cannot travel quickly except by the high roads because it is so heavy. If you control the high roads south, you can restrict its use.” All of what Alucius said seemed simple and direct enough to him.
The marshal nodded. “All very simple, but effective. Like you.”
“I’m too young and inexperienced as a commander to attempt anything terribly complicated.”
Alyniat laughed. “Don’t, even when you’re more experienced. Complicated plans just have more ways to go wrong.”
Alucius had already thought that, and had decided against saying so.
“I won’t keep you longer, Colonel.” Alyniat paused. “By the way, do you know that you’re the youngest majer-colonel in the history of the Southern Guard?”
“No…I didn’t.” Alucius wasn’t surprised. He was too young to be a colonel, but Marshal Frynkel and the Lord-Protector had needed him—and needed him to be independent, and so had Alyniat. “But you had a great deal to do with that.”
“I did.” A wry smile crossed the face of the blond marshal. “Promoting you was far easier than arguing and took less time. I figured that I couldn’t lose.”
“I’d be either dead or successful. Dead, the rank wouldn’t have mattered, and if we were successful, who would challenge your decision? And, either way, since I’m a Northern Guard officer, you wouldn’t have to deal with any problems that followed.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you, Colonel.” Alyniat chuckled. “You’re an idealist, but a very realistic one.” He stepped toward the door. “You can choose when you leave, but I would appreciate your letting me know.”
Alucius rose from the chair. “You can be assured that I will, Marshal.”
Even though his ribs were beginning to ache more, he forced himself to leave the fort at a measured pace without betraying the growing pain. He still needed more rest than usual—a great deal more. As he mounted the chestnut, he just hoped that he’d improve more by the middle of the next week.
100
The following Quinti, two mornings after the healer had replaced the splint with a removable brace, Alucius and Feran and what remained of the three companies rode out of Southgate headed for Tempre. No one saw them off, and there were no fanfares or much of anything else, for which Alucius was grateful. The wristguard showed that Wendra was healthy. Although he knew there was no way he could have gotten any messages, he still wished he could have gotten some word.
Five days later, they reached Zalt, but Colonel Jesopyr had been sent north to take charge of rebuilding and refortifying the post at Dimor. While Captain Kuttyr was most pleasant and helpful, Alucius had to admit that he missed Jesopyr.
A week later—ten long days—they were less than five vingts out of Tempre, and Alucius was riding at the front of the column with Jultyr and Thirty-fifth Company. The day before, Alucius had sent Fewal and Rakalt ahead with a message to Southern Guard headquarters announcing their impending arrival. The last thing he wanted was to show up with three
companies that no one had counted upon—although he doubted barracks space would be a problem, not with the majority of companies still in the southwest. Alucius wasn’t sure whether to call the area the southwest, southwest Lanachrona, south Madrien, or old Madrien, and he’d seen all four terms used in dispatches. So he’d opted to use the semineutral “southwest” in his reports to Marshal Frynkel.
Alucius was tired, and his ribs and arm had begun to throb, as had happened later in the day on most of the journey northeast toward the capital city of Lanachrona.
“What do you think will happen in Tempre, sir?” asked Jultyr.
“Not all that much. The Lord-Protector will commend everyone, thank me personally, give you furlough, and send us back to the Iron Valleys. They’ll send you replacements, give you some training, and in a season, you’ll be back in the southwest. Two seasons, if you’re fortunate.”
“As Overcaptain Feran says, sir, you’re most optimistic.”
“Rulers have needs. They seldom care what ours are. If they’re good, they’ll try to do something to meet ours, but whatever they do won’t compromise what they need.”
“Suppose not, sir.”
“They won’t stay rulers if they don’t look out for the country first.” Alucius did not say more because he saw riders ahead.
Those riders were four Southern Guards, waiting on the east side of the high road. The four caught sight of the banners and straightened in the saddle before riding toward Alucius and Jultyr.
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