Darknesses

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Draspyr gestured toward Alucius. “I believe you may have met Overcaptain Alucius…”

  “Indeed I have,” Heald said warmly. “We served together at Soulend, and I’m very glad to know we’ll be working together here.”

  While Heald’s words surprised Alucius, the warmth behind them surprised him even more.

  They clearly surprised the majer, who paused before replying, “I am very glad to know that.” After another moment of silence, he added, “After you get your men settled, Overcaptain Heald, I’d like a few moments to brief you. In the conference room here. Then, you and Overcaptain Alucius might want to discuss anything you think useful. Tomorrow, we will be doing some joint maneuvers, and we’ll set out on Septi. Captain Clifyr and his senior squad leader will show you where your troopers will be quartered.”

  “Yes, sir.” Heald inclined his head, then looked directly at Alucius and smiled. “It is good to see you.”

  “You, too,” Alucius replied, half-surprised that he meant it.

  After Heald had turned his mount and begun to direct Second Company, Draspyr looked at Alucius. “You did not mention that you were friends.”

  “We’ve never spent much time together, sir, but we share mutual respect.” Alucius didn’t feel that was stretching the truth too much.

  “That’s good. It’s useful in an effort like this will be.” Draspyr was both concerned and pleased. That Alucius almost could have read without his Talent. “If you will excuse me…”

  “Of course, sir.” With a nod, Alucius turned and walked back toward his own quarters.

  A glass later, there was a knock on the door to the small room where Alucius was reading the single history he had brought with him. He stood and opened the door.

  Heald offered a friendly smile, if tentative. “Alucius…”

  “It’s good to see you,” Alucius replied. “I have to say I was surprised.”

  “So was I, but you’re where you belong. You should have been an officer from the first.”

  “I don’t know that I would have learned what I needed if I had been,” Alucius replied, closing the door behind the other.

  “That may be, but…it’s well that you are. Especially now.”

  After a moment of silence, Alucius asked, “How is Third Company?”

  “There aren’t too many troopers left that you knew. You were close to Kypler and Velon, as I recall. Velon was mustered out last fall, and he was happy to get back to his orchards and mill. Oliuf was wounded, and his leg was broken. He was mustered out. He’ll always limp, but he’s all right otherwise.” Heald’s face turned sober. “Young Kypler…he was killed in one of the last fights before the Matrites pulled out of Soulend. I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate your telling me.”

  “Oh, and they made Geran an undercaptain last fall. He’s in charge of Seventeenth Company. He’s not too pleased that he’s being sent to the far north road outpost they’re reopening. I saw him in Dekhron, and he sends his best.” Heald paused. “Is it true that you wiped out an entire company of raiders last winter, and then reduced two companies to less than two squads later in the spring?”

  “We were fortunate.”

  Heald laughed, heartily. “You’ve told me that far too often. You make that kind of luck, and it takes hard work.”

  “Hard work—and luck,” Alucius half agreed.

  “That’s what comes of being a herder.” The older overcaptain hesitated. “You were there at Pyret. You know…Dysar made my life…less than pleasant.”

  “He never understood the situation you were in.” That was true, and Alucius had thought that then, and even more as he’d considered the Soulend campaign in the light of his own later experience.

  “He never understood anything except that the militia cost too much,” Heald said bluntly.

  Alucius laughed.

  “No one talks much about it, but the story is that you got him so upset his heart stopped.”

  “I did get him upset. That’s true. And his heart did stop.” Not for that reason, but Alucius wasn’t about to say more. “He wanted to have us all executed for desertion because we’d been captured or left for dead and didn’t have the decency to commit suicide rather than wear a Matrite collar.”

  “Those as bad as they say?”

  “Worse. They quit working, and that was how we could escape. When they were working, any officer could kill any man just by pulling on a little noose on her command belt. If you attacked an officer, you died right there. If you tried to remove the collar, you died, too.”

  Heald shuddered.

  “We were lucky that the collars stopped working, and we ripped them off before they could get them working again. I don’t know if they did.” Not for sure, Alucius thought to himself. “So we rode for home, and when we got there…and finally met with Dysar and Colonel Clyon, I suggested to Dysar that, if he didn’t want to treat us fairly, we’d have to seek other redress—like take refuge with the herders.” That wasn’t quite correct, but close enough. “And then I suggested to Colonel Clyon that after all the trouble we’d gone to—and all the silver collars we’d brought back—that the Council would have trouble if we were treated badly. He agreed.”

  “And Dysar couldn’t stand that thought?”

  “He couldn’t stand something,” Alucius said. “He turned red and fell out of the saddle.”

  “I’m not surprised. He had a terrible temper.” Heald paused. “Anyway…after that, things got better.”

  “Until the colonel got sick and died,” Alucius added.

  “If he got sick.”

  “We’ll never know for certain,” Alucius pointed out.

  “No, we won’t. No matter what we think.” After a moment, Heald added, “Oh…and Koryt won’t be a problem. He turned white when he heard you were here.” He laughed again. “I asked him about you, and do you know what he said?”

  “I couldn’t even guess,” Alucius admitted.

  “He said that the Council had made a horrible mistake because they’d picked the only officer in the militia who was meaner than a dustcat and tougher than a sander.”

  Alucius couldn’t help but frown.

  “Then he said,” Heald went on, clearly enjoying himself, “that it was a mistake because they clearly wanted to get rid of us all, and no one could get rid of you. The Council, Dysar, the Matrial, and the Southern Guard had tried, and they’d all failed.” The older overcaptain raised his eyebrows. “Is that true?”

  “I don’t know about the Council,” Alucius said slowly. “The others…well, I did survive battles against all of them. I was fortunate.”

  Heald shook his head. “You use that word too much. I recall your first scouting expedition. Somehow, three-quarters of a Matrite patrol died. Was that fortune?” Heald grinned.

  Alucius shrugged. He certainly didn’t want to be thought of as a solution to everything. “It probably was…but we won’t have that kind of luck against the grassland nomads.”

  Heald’s face sobered. “I know that. I’ve got a good company in the Third. Feran’s solid; everyone says so. Twenty-first Company is probably worth two, if not more, and Koryt would charge one of those Matrite spear-throwers rather than upset you.”

  That wasn’t necessarily good, Alucius reflected.

  “If you tell him to be cautious, he will be,” Heald said.

  “You’ll have to,” Alucius said. “Majer Draspyr has indicated that neither of us will be considered senior to the other.”

  Heald nodded. “I’m not surprised. We both got promoted at the same time. That will work.”

  Alucius hoped so. “Did the majer tell you about this Aellyan Edyss and his weapons?”

  “The pteridon bit? Yes. What do you think?”

  “He’s telling what he believes is the truth, and I can’t see any reason why the Lord-Protector would deceive him about that. It also explains why we’re here.”

  “We’re considered expendable in the new and enlarged
Lanachrona…and we’re used to heavier rifles.”

  “We’re not used to shooting up, though. I was thinking about some target practice with targets pulled along in the air…”

  “You’d have to have them move fast…”

  The discussion lasted for well over a glass.

  45

  The northern high road to the east was long—even longer than the midroad from Iron Stem into the middle of Madrien. Even though the road fort at Senelmyr was more than a hundred vingts east of Salaan, that left more than four hundred vingts to Dereka. After nine days of riding, the companies were just entering the foothills leading to the Upper Spine Mountains that formed the natural barrier between Lanachrona and Deforya, although the actual border was slightly to the east of the midpoint of the range.

  Feran and Alucius were riding together, at the head of the part of the column that encompassed both the Twenty-first and Fifth Companies, at that point bringing up the rear, just before the ten supply wagons. The gray eternastone pavement was as unmarked by time as any high road, but dustier than most Alucius had traveled, since there had been no rain along the road, perhaps not since the turn of spring. Alucius and Feran, and many of the troopers, sneezed often.

  Alucius glanced at the dark stone peaks rising beyond the hills through which they rode, peaks whose snow-tipped summits towered far above the road ahead, straight as it was in its course through them. “I wish we’d had more time to practice with the moving targets.”

  “We got the men to think about it. You should have seen the majer’s face. But he didn’t say anything.”

  “What could he have said?” Alucius smiled, momentarily. “We still don’t know any more than when we left Senelmyr.”

  “Does the majer know something he’s not telling us?”

  “I don’t think so.” Alucius lifted his water bottle and took a healthy swallow. “His troopers are solid, but Longyl was asking around. They’ve all had problems…good fighters, but they don’t do well when they’re not on duty. Heald told me something like that last night, too.”

  “So what was the majer’s problem?”

  “I’d guess that he’s well enough placed that he can’t be dismissed, but not in the Lord-Protector’s favor. Like the rest of us.”

  “If we succeed in learning something and surviving, all is well and good. If not, well…the Lord-Protector has sacrificed five companies for his friend and ally, the Landarch…Is that it?” Feran added quickly. “I’d say that’s charitable. It’s probably worse than that, especially for you.”

  “Me?”

  Feran eased his mount closer to Alucius. “You’re a herder. You’re more than a herder. I’ve seen enough.” The older officer raised a hand to hold off any objection Alucius might offer. “I’ve been around. Heard a few things, like the Lord-Protector having folks with Talent who can use a strange mirror to find out things. How else would they know to pick you?”

  “Misfortune? Mine?” suggested Alucius.

  “It might be, but don’t count on people thinking you’re just a young and simple captain.”

  “I can try.” Alucius grinned.

  “Try all you want. I won’t say anything. I’ll take any advantage we can get. It’s not going to be good.”

  “No,” Alucius agreed. “If our rifles are more useful against the pteridons—or whatever the nomads have—then the Lord-Protector will have an excuse to throw every militia—Northern Guard—company into the fight if the nomads head west.”

  “Will they head west, though?” asked Feran, as if he knew the answer.

  “I don’t think so. Not for a while. There’s a great advantage for them to take Deforya, because they’d hold both passes and control all land trade to the east, but I don’t see what they’d gain by attacking Lanachrona immediately.”

  “This…expedition…smells worse than a week-old carcass in midsummer. Do you have any ideas about how we get out of this?”

  “Outside of defeating ten times our numbers and pteridons, or something just as bad…no. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Keep thinking. You’re the bright one.” Feran forced a grin.

  “Thank you,” Alucius replied dryly.

  “You’re also the overcaptain. I’m just a mere captain, following orders, trying to do his humble best.”

  “You could spread that a little thicker,” Alucius retorted humorously. “I’m not sure how, but, if there’s a way…”

  They both laughed.

  46

  Alustre, Lustrea

  Vestor stood at the second archway into the ancient workshop of the Praetorian Engineers. Behind him glistened the pale green marble walls, and polished pink-gray granite pillars and floors. Thin lines of brilliant summer light flared through the narrow windows. The black-haired man wearing the silver-and-black jacket and silver trousers of the Praetor, scarcely a handful of years older than Vestor himself, walked toward the archway.

  Vestor bowed. “Praetor Tyren.”

  “Engineer.” The new Praetor walked into the work chamber, stopping short of the workbench and the narrow tanks on the tables behind it, in which were seed crystals. After studying the benches and the tanks, he turned to the engineer. “I have received a number of reports. They all say that you alone remained fighting the pteridons until your weapons and your archers were destroyed, and that you were burned and barely escaped with your life.”

  “Yes, Praetor.”

  “And that your arm and hand were damaged.” Tyren paused. “Will they affect your work?”

  “I can still do the delicate work and the design, but I fear it may be some time before I can lift much weight on my left side.”

  “But you can build more of the devices that you used against the pteridons?”

  “I have already begun. You can see. It will take time, as I told your father before we left for Catyr. I cannot grow the crystals faster than they will grow.”

  “Unlike my sire, Vestor, I have time to make sure we do matters with full preparation. You had six of the light-knives, with roughly two replacements for each. Correct?”

  “Yes, Praetor.”

  “We will plan for twenty-five, with five replacements for each. When we strike the nomads again, we will be prepared for anything. I understand that you have one working device remaining?”

  “I am using it as a model for the others.”

  “Good. What about the Table project?” Tyren pointed toward the solid black square table, sturdily constructed of lorken, set well away from the workbenches, and at the thick glass mirror, also rimmed in lorken, upon the table.

  “I have discovered a way to measure the forces exerted on the mirrors. Given time, I can at least determine where they can be placed so that we can use them longer without explosion. I am hopeful that this will lead to a working replica of the Tables of the Recorders. But that will take even more time, I fear.”

  “Do not neglect that, but take the time you require. The new Duarchy will need such, and should you succeed, you will be acclaimed and rewarded above all other engineers in the times since the Cataclysm.” Tyren smiled. “You have already given much, often with little reward. I have taken the liberty of making the upper floors of the Northern Tower ready for you. There is enough space for a family there, in great comfort, and your new stipend will support that, should you wish such. If not, you will have the comfort and space to sustain you.”

  Vestor’s eyes widened, if slightly. “You are most kind.”

  “Most realistic, Vestor. Even engineers who love their work deserve recognition and golds,” Tyren went on. “You will receive the green circlet of valor at the next assembly of honors.” He nodded, then stepped back. “I also expect continued progress.” With a smile, he turned.

  Vestor nodded, more to himself than to the departing Praetor.

  47

  By the following Octi, the five companies were well into the Upper Spine Mountains, far taller than any mountains Alucius had traveled. Even so, the tallest peaks wer
e shorter, he judged, than the Aerlal Plateau. But then, no one he knew had ever tried to climb the more than six-thousand-yard-high sheer walls of the Plateau. As his grandsire had said, years back, after Alucius had dreamed of climbing the Plateau, there were better ways—and far less dangerous ones—to make a fool of one’s self.

  When Alucius studied the mountains around and above him with his Talent, even in midday he could feel a darkness that enfolded the gray stone slopes, slopes that held far fewer trees than he would have expected. Yet he found no source for the darkness. The trees themselves were all evergreens, bent and twisted and old, and he saw but a handful of younger or smaller pines or firs. Even the few valleys he had seen were almost lifeless, heaped with stones, and with scattered handfuls of stunted bushes.

  “The winds must be fierce here in the winter,” he said to Longyl, riding beside him.

  “Thought that myself, sir. Haven’t seen any animals, and only a few ravens. Only one hawk. Can’t be much in the way of small game.”

  “No.” Alucius hadn’t sensed that much life. Even the barren quarasote plains of the stead, under the Aerlal Plateau, held far more living creatures. “Good thing we’ve got supply wagons. Be tough foraging here.”

  “For five companies…be impossible, sir.”

  “Let’s hope it’s better in the Barrier Range.”

  “You think we’ll be headed that way soon?”

  “No one’s said, but I wouldn’t wager against it.”

  “Least it’s summer.”

  As Wildebeast carried Alucius to a low crest in the mountain high road, he suddenly sensed a point of dark bluish violet in the heights to the south—a single point. He forced himself to look upward slowly, as if studying the sides of the unnatural gorge cradling the high road, but his eyes could make out nothing. Whatever the creature hidden and watching within the rocks above the gorge might be, it felt similar to a sander. Were there mountain sanders? Alucius had never heard of such, and in his readings had never come across any such reference; but there were few enough references to sanders, and many people in Corus, especially in the southern lands, thought they were mythical or legendary creatures, although herders saw enough of them to know they were far from mythical.