Darknesses

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You don’t think this is good news?” Feran chuckled as he looked up at Alucius.

  “Do you?” Alucius paused, then broke the seal and opened the dispatch. “Might as well read what else has gone wrong.”

  “You’re such an optimist,” Feran said, still holding his own dispatch, unopened.

  “Compared to you…yes.”

  Alucius’s eyes skimmed over the standard salutation and focused on the text.

  As most of you know, the Iron Valleys incurred heavy debt during the Matrite War. The Council could not raise tariffs quickly enough to cover the cost of paying the militia and providing ammunition and other supplies, and was required to borrow heavily from other lands. Because of poor weather and adverse trading conditions over the past several years, the Council has not been able to raise the coins necessary even to pay the interest on that debt, and there are no coins left in the treasury to pay troopers and officers past the turn of harvest, little more than a month away. Unfortunately, raids by brigands and others are continuing, and within weeks it will be impossible to protect the people of the Iron Valleys. The Lord-Protector of Lanachrona has also expressed strong concerns that, without an operating militia, the northern borders of Lanachrona would be open to raids of the sort that had occurred earlier this year until the brigands were killed by the militia. He noted that Lanachrona would be forced to station more companies of the Southern Guard along the River Vedra and might well be forced to pursue such brigands into the Iron Valleys, as well as destroy any sanctuaries within the Iron Valleys. This would not be a good situation for either the people of the Iron Valleys or those of Lanachrona.

  Under these circumstances, the Council met in a series of emergency negotiations with representatives of the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona…

  Alucius winced. Even though he had predicted something like this coming, seeing it in cold black letters was still a shock.

  …and worked out an agreement of union between Lanachrona and the Iron Valleys. A summary of the main terms is attached.

  The Iron Valley Militia will remain as a separate unit, under the Council, but it will be called the Northern Guard. All troopers and officers will remain on the rolls and will continue to be paid, and all companies will be supplied regularly. Later this summer, after the commanders of the Northern Guard and Southern Guard meet, there may be other changes announced, but all commitments to present militia troopers and officers will be fully honored…

  One of your tasks will be to explain to the people of Emal and the surrounding area what has happened, and to reassure them that, for them, nothing has changed. No Southern Guard detachments or forces will appear. The Council will still promulgate laws for the Iron Valleys. Tariffs for farmers and small crafters will not change much. The only increase will be one part in twenty-five, and that was a tariff increase already approved by the Council to pay off past debts. One great advantage will be that tariffs will no longer be levied on Lanachronan goods carried into the Iron Valleys or those of the Iron Valleys carried into Lanachrona.

  You are requested to respond in writing by declaring your allegiance to the militia, henceforth the Northern Guard, as now governed for the Lord-Protector by the Council…

  Alucius glanced over the second sheet, but the main terms of the agreement were as noted in the cover dispatch. He looked at Feran, waiting until the older officer finished reading, then asked, “What do you think?”

  “We’ve been sold out, and there’s not a sanded thing that we can do.” Feran snorted. “Do you know what I’m supposed to do?”

  “No.”

  “I’m supposed to remove the guard posts on the bridge and the iron gate. Anyone can cross anytime with anything.”

  “I suppose that’s not bad,” Alucius offered.

  “No, that part’s not bad. And for a while, nothing terrible will happen. Not right away. But basic tariff levies on crafters and artisans and farmers will go up in a year, and then more in another year. Then maybe they’ll change our uniforms to look more like the Southern Guard, and pretty soon, the senior officers will be from Borlan or Tempre.”

  “So?” asked Alucius. “Is that any different from right now? Majer…Colonel Weslyn might as well have been born in Borlan.”

  Feran laughed, but there was an edge to his voice. “Maybe…maybe…We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

  Alucius wasn’t looking forward to that, or to telling his troopers, although he knew they were solid and would stand behind him. He just hoped he could continue to do his best for them.

  38

  Under the faint light cast by the oil lamp in the mess, Alucius sat at the table, looking at the blank sheet of paper before him, about to start another letter to Wendra, since he had dispatched the last one with the messenger who had brought the news of the forced union of the Iron Valleys with Lanachrona. Because the night was hot, he’d taken off his tunic, but not his undertunic. All the windows and shutters were wide, and every so often a fly or mosquito hummed toward Alucius. None of them actually landed on the herder.

  Feran cleared his throat. Wearing only trousers and a frayed undertunic, he stood barefoot in the doorway from the quarters end of the building, which held the two small rooms for each of them, plus two others for visiting officers, although there hadn’t been a visiting officer in at least the last year.

  Alucius looked up.

  “Don’t know how you do that,” Feran said.

  “Do what?”

  “Mosquitoes. If I close the shutters, I can’t sleep because it’s too hot. If I leave them open for the breeze, the mosquitoes come in and eat me. They hover around you, but they never land on you.”

  Alucius shook his head. “They don’t like herders. We taste bad.” That was the only explanation he was about to give, since he didn’t want to admit that he was using a fraction of his Talent to keep from getting bitten.

  “You deserve some advantages for having to grow up there, I suppose.” Feran slipped into the chair on the other side of Alucius. “Too cold and barren for me. Sander near died when we had to fight through the winter at Soulend. Thought I’d never get warm again.”

  “I don’t mind the cold,” Alucius admitted, setting down the pen,

  “and I like the openness. You know that. That was the hardest thing about being a Matrite trooper—always being with other troopers, never being able to get away.”

  “You still take rides by yourself.”

  Alucius nodded. “The troopers understand. They laugh about their herder captain when they think I’m not listening.”

  “The men took this all pretty well,” Feran said. “Better than I did, I’d wager.”

  “They’re getting paid, and they wouldn’t have, and they’ve been told that they can stay if they want to and leave once their commitment is over. And they won’t have to fight the Southern Guard. It could have been worse,” Alucius said. “We didn’t lose a war, and no one is invading the Iron Valleys.” Not yet, he thought to himself.

  “No, we just lost the peace…and the ability to do things our way,” Feran said dryly. “What do you think is going to happen? The Lord-Protector isn’t just going to let us sit here and collect our pay. Not for long.”

  “Probably not. What do you think?”

  “If he had his way, he’d disband the militia. That won’t happen, not for a while. I’d guess we’ll get shuffled around, and some may get an incentive to leave early.” Feran leaned back in the chair and brushed away an insistent mosquito. “If the Lanachronans were still fighting the Matrites, we might find ourselves riding west again, but I don’t see that happening, not this year.”

  “No. The Lord-Protector took Southgate and the high road from Tempre to the port at Southgate. Some of the militia companies might get road patrol duties there. Without the Matrite troopers riding the high roads, the Lanachronans have to be patrolling the roads, or we’d be seeing raiders out of the Dry Coast. Maybe something like that.”

  “That would be bette
r than going north,” Feran said. “The Lord-Protector might make a stab at Klamat, to get the timber trade, maybe even take over Northport.”

  “I’d guess that won’t come for a few years,” Alucius suggested. “He’d have to send Southern Guards across the Iron Valleys. He promised not to do that.”

  “You really think he’ll keep his word?”

  “Not forever. But he will for a year or two, perhaps longer.”

  “Why? We couldn’t do that much about it.”

  “You’re right. We couldn’t. But he promised. And how will all the other rulers around take it if he immediately breaks a written agreement? The Landarch, the Regent of the Matrial, or even the traders of Dramur? They’d never agree to anything they didn’t have to, and they’d ask for more golds or conditions. No…he’ll wait until he has a good reason, then he’ll say times have changed.” Alucius laughed. “Times always change. He just has to wait.”

  “I still worry…” Feran stood.

  “So do I,” Alucius admitted. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “It’s getting cooler. You think we’ll get rain?” Feran walked toward the door.

  “I hope so, but it’s still clear outside.”

  “No rain then. See you in the morning.”

  “Good night.” Alucius sat back in the chair. Despite the difference in their ages, Feran was the only friend he’d really made since he’d been a boy and talked glass after glass with Vardial. Now Vardial was stationed somewhere in the southwest, along the Vedra, and Alucius hadn’t seen him in years.

  Then, Alucius reflected, his life hadn’t exactly been the kind to allow many friends, not when the nearest stead had been almost ten vingts away. He might have made friends when he’d been a conscript, if it hadn’t have been for Dolesy—and then having been picked as a scout. And being a Matrite captive trooper and later a squad leader hadn’t made finding friends easy there.

  He smiled. He enjoyed talking to Feran. That was one of the best parts of duty at Emal.

  39

  Tempre, Lanachrona

  The Lord-Protector walked to the window of the private study and gazed out through the misty rain, looking out on the River Vedra.

  “You’re worried about something, aren’t you, dear?” The woman who spoke could not have been called beautiful, or pretty, for her eyes were too large, and her nose too sharp, although her voice was firm, yet melodious. “Is it the forced union of the Iron Valleys? Still?”

  “What else could I do? You were right, and the forced union was far less costly than a war, even if accomplished with the tacit threat of such. In time, if our rein is light, they will forget, or at least accept. Even so, we are stretched too thin with the western campaign. Yet if we had not acted against Madrien after the Matrial’s disappearance, we never would have been able to take Southgate. The nomads are stirring to the east, and sooner or later Deforya will fall, and then we would lose the other high road to the east. In the Iron Valleys, only the herders have any strength, and they are becoming fewer every year. With the traders in Dekhron controlling their Council, the Iron Valleys would always have been weak.”

  “Until someone else invaded them, as the Matrial attempted.”

  “The forced union was the best course, but I still worry, dearest,” the Lord-Protector admitted.

  “That is not it, Talryn dear. You have talked of the Matrites and the Iron Valleys and the problems they have created before. Is it that herder officer? You have pondered over him far too much, given all the other difficulties you face.” She straightened from the smaller desk where she had been writing.

  “He is the key to something. That I can feel, and yet I cannot say what it might be, except that the Recorder likes him not at all, much as he dissembles.”

  “I would say that is something in favor of this officer. Perhaps a great deal, even if he is from the north.”

  “You don’t care for Enyll, do you?” The Lord-Protector turned and walked toward his consort, circled behind her, and stood with his fingers on her shoulders, his thumbs kneading the muscles beside her shoulder blades.

  “That feels good, but you need not…”

  “I know I need not, but it is something that I can do for you that has little to do with being Lord-Protector. You were saying about Enyll?”

  “I had said little.” She smiled mischievously.

  “Say a little more, then.”

  “Enyll has such a desire for knowledge that he would sacrifice anyone to discover—or rediscover—the source of a new power or the design of an ancient new weapon. He thinks less of all those who do not know what he does. I would call it the arrogance of knowledge.”

  “In that, he is arrogant,” the Lord-Protector replied. “Yet that thirst for knowledge makes him valuable.”

  “It also makes him dangerous and unpredictable.”

  “That, too.” The Lord-Protector laughed. “You are better than any of my ministers and marshals at seeing to the heart of matters.”

  “You do not mind…my other deficiencies.”

  “We are young, and what will be, it will be. I would rather have you as you are than anyone else as they might be.” He bent and kissed the back of her neck, gently.

  40

  Little more than a week after Alucius and Feran had sent their replies back to Colonel Weslyn, a squad of militia troopers rode through the Emal Outpost gate, again in the afternoon, as Alucius was drilling a squad, this time, fifth squad.

  The squad leader rode straight to Alucius. “Sir? You’re Captain Alucius?”

  “Correct, squad leader. How might I help you?” Alucius didn’t like unannounced squads appearing at the outpost, especially after the last message, the one declaring that the Council had surrendered an independence dearly purchased with years of sacrifice.

  “We’re the advance guard for the commandant. Colonel Weslyn.”

  “The colonel is riding to Emal Outpost?”

  “Yes, sir. He will be visiting all the outposts along the river.”

  “How long before he arrives? And how many are with him?”

  “About a glass, sir. Just another squad, sir.”

  “If you will excuse me, my senior squad leader will be with you in a moment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Again…Alucius had the feeling that he was being treated with far greater care and courtesy than the average captain. Either that or the colonel had problems everywhere and had instructed that all officers be treated with great courtesy.

  Alucius alerted Feran first, then set to work with Longyl to assure that Twenty-first Company was fully mustered out, as if for inspection—in formation, with full summer uniforms.

  The courtyard was crowded, with Fifth Company on the north side and Twenty-first on the south, and through the open gates, Alucius could see that a number of townspeople had gathered and were watching. Both Alucius and Feran were mounted and waiting when the colonel rode through the gates at the head of another squad, accompanied by a captain Alucius did not know, the black banner of the commandant following.

  “Twenty-first Company, all present and awaiting inspection,” Alucius announced.

  “Fifth Company, all present and awaiting inspection…”

  “Captains, you do us honor.” Weslyn was tall and blond, his face tanned, his smile ready. He inclined his head briefly.

  “Not so much as you honor us, sir,” returned Alucius, thankful in a way for the training in handling such situations that he had inadvertently gained as a Matrite squad leader.

  Feran merely nodded.

  “We will make the inspection brief.” Weslyn laughed softly. “It has been a long ride.”

  True to his word, the inspection was brief, and the commandant offered only complimentary comments to a handful of troopers.

  Once done, he turned his mount to Alucius and Feran. “If you would not mind, Captains…we would like a moment to wash up before we eat, and, at that time, discuss why we are here.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, sir. The quarters for visiting officers are ready, sir, although they are not large.”

  Once the commandant had dismounted and turned his mount to a trooper from the squad that had accompanied him, Alucius turned. “Twenty-first Company! Dismissed to the outpost!”

  “Fifth Company! Dismissed to the outpost,” Feran followed.

  Alucius and Feran turned their mounts to Vinkin, something Alucius normally would not have done, but he wanted to talk to Feran before they met with the commandant.

  The two officers slipped to one side of the courtyard in the shade and well away from the barracks and the headquarters building.

  “What do you think?” Alucius asked.

  “He’s visiting every outpost on the river. That means change. We’ll all be moved or put under Lanachronan command…or something. What else could it mean?”

  Alucius nodded. He also had no doubts that the squad leader of the advance guard had been ordered to tell them that. “We might as well go wash up ourselves and see what he has to say.”

  The colonel was waiting in the small mess when the two captains joined him and the captain accompanying him.

  Alucius had forgotten that Colonel Weslyn stood half a head taller than Alucius himself. Only a handful of men were that much taller, and few were both taller and broader across the shoulders. Colonel Weslyn was both. With his silvering blond hair, his square jaw, and piercing blue eyes, he presented an impressive appearance as he stood in the small officers’ mess.

  Alucius scanned the colonel with his Talent. Not to his surprise, Weslyn’s lifethread was amber brown and ran southwest, certainly not the lifethread of a northerner or a man likely to understand herders.

  “Greetings, Alucius, Feran,” said the colonel, his voice full and deep.

  Alucius nodded politely. “Greetings and welcome to Emal Outpost, Colonel.”

  “Greetings,” Feran echoed, his voice barely verging on politeness.