Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  His one look at the land around him had made one thing very clear. The only way out was through the Table.

  In time, after dealing with other needs, and drinking more, he made his way back up the stone tree and wormed his way into the Table building—grateful to be out of a wind that had begun to rise, colder with each quarter glass that passed. The sky to the north was darkening moment by moment, with heavy gray clouds scudding in from the northwest. His head and body still ached, but he didn’t see that staying around in the frigid Table building in the middle of a mostly frozen wasteland, with spring yet to approach, would do much to improve his physical condition.

  He made another study of every room on the upper levels of the building but found nothing, not even any light-torches or brackets that might have opened hidden passages. Just walls and columns and floors and ceilings, all of cold stone. There wasn’t even a scrap of parchment or a fragment of metal.

  Alucius stood at the top of the ramp leading down to the Table chamber and tried to think. The last Table—the buried one—had felt reddish. The one in Salaan had been a dark green, and the one immediately below him had felt black. The one that had existed in Tempre had been blue, and the one where he had faced the ifrit-possessed engineer years before had been silver. The Table in Tempre did not exist any longer, and the one where he’d fought the engineer was probably also buried in rubble. He hadn’t fared well against the ifrits in Salaan when he had been stronger. So…he had to find another Table, preferably an older one not being tended by ifrits. If there was another Table anywhere.

  His breath was steaming more, and he shivered. Was that the cold caused by the storm coming in? Or was it because he was tired and hungry? He pressed his lips together, lifted the rifle that was becoming ever heavier, and retraced his steps back to the lower level.

  Once he entered the Table chamber, he noted that the ooze around the Table was firmer, almost totally frozen, except immediately next to the Table. The Table itself held the purplish Talent-glow that indicated it was functioning.

  In the dimness, he checked the walls of the chamber, but could find no sign of light-torch brackets or of hidden doorways. By the time he finished, his teeth were chattering.

  Alucius took a deep breath, then climbed onto the Table quickly, as if he feared he might lose his resolve. He concentrated on the blackness beneath, on the tubes that led…wherever…

  More quickly than before, Alucius dropped into the purple black chill. In the timelessness that followed, he tried to feel for the arrowlike markers, finding the sullen red one, the dark green, the silver, and the black, somewhere seemingly above him. There were none of the guideways, the golden green threads, that led to the hidden city, not even beyond the blackness, not where he had found them once before.

  But there had to be something else…somewhere else that he could go…

  He could sense, nearer now in some way, one dark purple conduit that led to a darkness far worse than anything on Corus—the world from where the ifrits came. Alucius had no desire to go there. Facing an entire world of the creatures was madness when he could barely hold his own against a single ifrit.

  Once more, he sought beyond the tube of chill purple blackness, but found nothing. Was there not anything, any kind of marker?

  He struggled to find something, anything at all.

  Off to the side, or off center, Alucius sensed something else, something faint, a circle of gold and crimson, barely there, yet there, but not flickering or retreating. He thought there might be another, one of hot purple and pink, but that was farther away, and he was tired…so tired.

  As before, his mind had become slow and confused, and he Talent-probed desperately for the golden red circle, more of a mist than an arrow or a Table. Still…it had to represent…something. He pressed his being toward that crimson gold, mind-levering himself at whatever it represented.

  Before he knew it, he was hurtling through a barrier, but one of silvered gold, whose breaking shards were more like the patter of rain as he flew through it.

  129

  Salaan, Lanachrona

  The two ifrits stood on opposite sides of the Table that dominated the lower chamber. The hidden door had been closed, and the stone facing where it was looked no different from the sections of wall on either side.

  “The Table in Soupat is on the grid. So is the one in Blackstear.” Trezun looked at Tarolt. “Waleryn thinks he will have the Table in Norda fully operational in a week, no more than two. The cold has hampered some of his efforts.”

  “It always does. Would that we could work on a warmer world, but the universe does not take note of desires or wishes, only what is.”

  “Unhappily.”

  “How did you manage to bring the one in Blackstear into the grid?” Tarolt’s voice carried little more than idle curiosity.

  “I did not. The herder-colonel did, I surmise, since there was a translation from the Table in Soupat, and none of the other Tables on the grid show another translation.”

  “That he went to Blackstear proves that he has ability, but not understanding.”

  “The ancient ones, perhaps?”

  “No. Blackstear was at the edge of their reach even when they were more formidable.” Tarolt smiled. “They are scarcely that now.”

  “They could be concealing their strength.”

  “I think not. Not if they are reduced to using Talent-steers as their agents.” Tarolt gestured toward the Table itself. “The two reaccessed Tables—they will strengthen the grid by how much?”

  “A tenth part for now. Another tenth once the Table in Norda is fully operational and can shunt power to them through the grid.”

  “So we have strengthened the grid, but opened it to an agent of the ancient ones, who, weak as he is, has survived a barrier and made another translation.”

  “He cannot survive in Blackstear,” pointed out Trezun.

  “No. But do we know that he will stay there? Warn Waleryn that he is able to use the Tables.” Tarolt paused. “You had best begin making translations to Tempre. That is close enough that you should not need a Table there, and the Lord-Protector believes the room is sealed.”

  “You want me to start rebuilding the Table there?”

  “Where else? We need to gain control over the Lord-Protector.”

  Trezun nodded slowly. “It will take time.”

  “Everything takes time, and that is what we have too little of. You had best send a message to the fieldmasters about the Talent-steer.”

  “They will not be pleased.”

  “No. But they would be less pleased if they discovered it later, and we have not told them. They should also know that we yet face difficulties. Perhaps it will motivate them to…encourage greater support for our efforts.”

  “Most true,” admitted Trezun. “Should we request a replacement for Sensat?”

  “That would be best—if there is someone willing to take the risk and with enough lifeforce to make the long translation to a marginal grid. But word what you send most carefully. I would rather not upset Fieldmaster Lasylt more than necessary.”

  Trezun nodded slowly once more.

  130

  Alucius staggered as he broke out from the purple darkness, and he took two steps before recovering his balance. He glanced around warily, but he saw no one. He stood in an empty chamber, in a square pit perhaps half a yard below the stone floor. Dust raised by his boots swirled up around him and he sneezed—hard—several times.

  With his free hand, he rubbed his nose, trying to stop the itching and the sneezing. Finally, he glanced around, noticing immediately as he did that the air around him was far warmer, if not quite springlike. Again…he was in a chamber below ground, but this one was lit, if dimly, by light filtering through a doorway to his left. A moment passed before he realized that there was no Table in the chamber. No Table? But how had he been able to appear?

  As he stepped out of the pit, he frowned, thinking, even as he kept looking aroun
d the empty chamber. He had not been able to find one of the arrow markers. Nor had he been able to find the golden green circles of the soarers and their hidden city. He had tried to use a misty golden red circle—and he had broken out through some sort of barrier. Did that mean that the Tables were only to make travel easier? He recalled all the Table locations he knew. Each was set on or near stone and deep in the ground. That argued that the Tables could be located only in certain places. Alucius looked back at the Table-sized depression in the stone and nodded slowly.

  All that might be, but he also needed food and rest, and before long. He tried not to dwell on the situation he was in. His wife was still missing, and he was, too—at least absent from Northern Guard headquarters at a time when his absence would certainly be noted, a time he should have been there. For the moment, though, he had to deal with more immediate needs.

  He considered the chamber around him. There were no furnishings at all, just bare stone walls—except that the walls were gold eternastone. As with the other Table chambers he had visited, there was only a single obvious entrance, but the wooden door and frame that had presumably once filled the doorway had long since vanished.

  Rifle still in hand, Alucius moved toward the doorway, then up the stone steps, slowly, because he thought he could hear voices murmuring. With each step, dust swirled around his boots. Halfway up, he paused, listening.

  “…sure be safe…”

  Alucius tried to make out the words, words that he thought were in an oddly accented Lanachronan.

  “…safe enough…Council’s armsmen won’t be patrolling here tonight…”

  “…you know that?”

  “…backhills…think this place is still home of demons…”

  “…been here before…never seen any…”

  Alucius checked his rifle, then took another step, and another, trying to move deliberately so as not to raise too much dust, until he reached the top of the stairs and stood in a small foyer. He could still hear the voices coming from the larger chamber beyond.

  The talking went on…and on.

  Tired as he was, Alucius decided that he would have to try the breeze illusion to move past whoever was in the chamber beyond. If it didn’t work, perhaps the rifle’s presence would be enough to intimidate them, since those talking sounded as though they were beggars or homeless folk. He concentrated on creating the impression of nothingness, then eased through the doorway out into the larger chamber, moving one step at a time.

  “…heard something…” One of the figures in rags turned toward Alucius.

  The young colonel shifted his grip on the rifle.

  Another of the figures, a bearded man in an armless gray tunic, looked toward Alucius, but his eyes were focused more on Alucius’s boots. “…over there…boot prints…see…”

  “Nobody’s there…”

  “It’s a demon…or its boots!”

  “Run! Run, Nargila!”

  “…no demons…you said no demons…”

  “Run…!”

  Alucius dropped the illusion once the three figures in rags scrambled through the bare stone archway and out away from him. He walked slowly toward the windows through which sunlight angled. At the low, wide window, which at one time had to have held a frame and glass, he glanced out into late afternoon, where the sun hung low over a city, over dwellings that glowed yellow in the slanting sunlight. He had to squint, trying not to look directly at the sun, but he could see that the dwellings in the distance, to the north, were indeed of yellowstone and dark split slate.

  Closer, below the building itself, ran a paved yellowstone road, into which years of wagon wheels had carved grooves almost a handspan deep. The road alone told Alucius where he was—in the city of Dereka, capital of Deforya. To confirm that, he leaned out and looked to the north, where he could see yet another of the gold eternastone buildings, built without visible mortar or gaps between the large and regular stones. Even farther to the north was a greenstone tower.

  He stepped back, swallowing. He was relieved, in a way, to be somewhere that he recognized, but also troubled to have discovered just how many Tables there once had been.

  After a moment, Alucius turned and made his way in the general direction taken by the fleeing beggars, finding a wide stone staircase. In time he walked from a square arch on the north side of the building, stepping out and turning west.

  A vendor at a small cart stared at him, but he did not see anyone else who seemed even to notice him as he walked westward. He took the precaution of leaving his riding jacket closed, so that the insignia on his collar could not be seen. Once he reached the main boulevard, he looked southward, but all he could see of the Landarch’s palace was a small section of the main gates and another green tower—the one at the northern end.

  From what Alucius recalled, there were no places offering lodging to the south of where he stood. He felt like trudging, but forced himself to walk alertly northward along the main boulevard, vaguely recalling having seen some inns there when he had last been in Dereka. He also remembered to stay out of the center section of the boulevard, reserved for riders and wagons. He worried about carrying the rifle, but he saw more than a few bravos, some looking even more tired and disreputable than he thought he must, also carrying weapons. That was something he had not recalled from when he had been in Dereka before.

  The streets were less crowded than he recalled, and few people looked directly at each other or at Alucius. He had to walk almost half a vingt before he reached a corner where, across the side street, he saw a three-story stone structure with the signboard that proclaimed the building as the Red House. Beside the letters was the picture of a house totally in red.

  All the shutters, doors, and wooden trim had been recently painted a bright red that stood out against the dressed graystones, stones that had doubtless come from an older structure. The inn was certainly a place more costly than Alucius would have preferred, but it was also likely to be more reputable than a less costly place. He crossed the side street and walked through the stone archway.

  A young man with black hair and wearing a red leather vest rose from behind a small desk to one side of the spacious foyer. “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for a room…and a meal.”

  The angular young man looked at Alucius, at the heavy rifle, and then at the nightsilk-covered riding jacket. “Be five coppers a night for the room. Seven if you stable a mount.”

  “Mount didn’t make it all the way here,” Alucius replied. He hoped the chestnut was all right, but there was little he could do, not when he was some six hundred vingts from Salaan.

  “You here to join the Council force?”

  “Hadn’t thought to…When I left my place…well…Landarch was having trouble, but…” Alucius hoped his vague reply would lead to more information.

  “He had his troubles, all right.” The young man shook his head. “All started after the Lanachronans came in and destroyed the nomads. Two years back. Landarch said the big landowners hadn’t met their obligations. He tried to curb their privileges. Landowners…they complained…plots here and plots there. Woke up a month ago, the Landarch was dead, and the Council was in power.”

  Alucius nodded. “Think I might just have to think it over.”

  “You want a room? We have a small one on the third floor. We could go four coppers.”

  “I’ll take it. Need to sleep somewhere. Room have a basin and towel?”

  “All the rooms do. You need more water, you can bring the pitcher down here.”

  “Thank you.” Alucius extended the coppers, then offered a tired smile. “What’s best to eat tonight?”

  “Stew’s never bad, but the plumapple chicken’s probably the best. Or the Spirnaci noodles with the groundpig.” The young man extended a heavy bronze key. “First door to the left at the top of the stairs. Has a red square on the door panel.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sir…might be better if you left the weapon in yo
ur room. It’ll be safe there.”

  Alucius nodded.

  The stairs to the second floor were wide and made of polished stone. Those to the third floor were far narrower and were wood covered with a dark gray carpeting, The key turned the heavy lock easily, and Alucius stepped into the room behind the red square.

  Since he’d been expecting a cot in a space more like a barracks cubby, he was pleasantly surprised by the room—a space three and a half yards by four with a narrow window offering a view of the one of the abandoned gold eternastone structures. The inside shutters were dark oak, and the bed, while single, had a firm mattress, both sheets, and a heavy blanket. The wash table had two pitchers and a generous basin with two towels.

  After slipping the rifle under the mattress, he stepped to the basin and pitcher. Slowly and carefully, he peeled off his clothes to the waist. As he had suspected, he had bruises distributed all across his upper body. Some were still dark, but others were beginning to turn yellow and purple. He slowly washed away the dirt and grime. He would have liked to shave, because his beard itched, both growing out and even when grown out, but all his personal gear had been left in his quarters.

  Still…cool as it was, the water felt good. And so would some sleep, but that would have to wait until after he ate.

  Once he was cleaner, he brushed out the dust and dirt from his jacket and shirt, using a damp corner of one of the towels to remove several obvious spots. He removed the collar insignia, slipping them into his wallet. Then he left the room, locking it behind him, and made his way down the stairs to the public room. He left the riding jacket on, but open.

  Only half the tables in the long room were taken, and as Alucius glanced around, a servingwoman—wearing a red apron with a few splotches on it—paused and gestured. “Take any vacant table, sir.”