“Does this have anything to do with the nomads?” asked Feran politely.
“If we’re fighting with the Deforyan Lancers, it does. It also explains why Heald and I got promoted. One reason, anyway.”
“Oh…” Feran shook his head. “…son of an underweight sow!” The exclamation was low, but carried to Alucius. “All they’ve ever done is chase small bands of raiders, and now you’re telling me that there aren’t any brains in the overcaptains?”
“No…I’m saying that you can’t tell. They all have their rank because of family, and some might have brains, but until we get into a fight, we won’t know.”
“That also tells me why the overcaptains don’t like talking to me,” Feran went on. “I’m just a poor working officer, not the son of a landowner.”
“I’m considered a failure, because I’m an older son of a landowner who is an officer,” Alucius pointed out with a laugh. “They only answer my questions when they have to.”
“You know…Overcaptain Alucius,” Feran said ruefully, “every time you start to think, I end up getting worried. Couldn’t you have just let me think everything was going to be all right? At least for another day or so.” Feran’s expression turned mock-mournful.
Alucius laughed. So did Feran.
What else could they do?
53
Alustre, Lustrea
Vestor looked at the green circlet on his collar, the token of valor, then down at his weakened left arm. His lips tightened, and he smiled, coolly, his eyes going to the narrow windows and the silver-green sky they revealed.
He walked to the main workbench, where he inspected and tightened several silver clips on the assemblies within the black metal containers, assemblies that would hold crystals. After a short time, he moved to the crystal tanks, where he surveyed the progress there. Casually, he eased around the end of the last tank to the smaller workbench in the corner, a space easily overlooked.
For a long moment, he stood over the bench, then slid back the green quartz surface to reveal a polished and silvered metal circle, recessed beneath the oak that held the quartz top. He took several deep breaths. After a time he concentrated, staring deeply into the ruby mists that appeared, tinged somehow with both purple and pink.
Amorphous dark shadows, suggesting figures, appeared, then vanished, and immediately, a section of a diagram appeared.
Even as he concentrated on memorizing the diagram, suspended against the multicolored mists, Vestor’s eyes flicked intermittently to the amber crystal affixed to the side of the metal mirror.
The amber crystal began to glow, and Vestor stepped back from the workbench, just as it shattered. The once-polished surface of the metal appeared tarnished, as if by fire, but had neither deformed nor cracked. Vestor replaced the quartz cover slab, quickly, then took out the engineers’ markstick and began to sketch and write out all that he had seen in the metallic mirror.
His right hand was deft as he transferred all that he had seen. When he finished and beheld his handiwork, a smile of modest satisfaction appeared—momentarily—vanishing as he set down the markstick and used his good right hand to massage the left forearm he had leaned on while he had been copying the diagram.
His eyes dropped to the green circle. “…hardly enough…” But the words were so low that not even an observer behind the nearest wall, had there been one, would have heard.
54
Four days later, the ten companies, followed by supply wagons and packhorses, were riding single file along a narrow trail in the middle of the Barrier Range, whose slopes, while not nearly so steep as those of the Upper Spine Mountains, were far drier and composed of a combination of ancient lava and red sandstone. The road had turned from stone into the dusty trail two days earlier. At first, it had wound through sandy red hills, covered with outcroppings of black rocks, occasional growths of cacti that made the quarasote hills of the Iron Valleys look lush, and scattered thorn trees with silver leaves that were sparse and smaller than a child’s little finger.
The thorn trees had vanished once they had reached the actual mountains, but the cacti had remained, although they were even more scattered and more ancient. Overhead, the sun was white and hot. Except at the two waystations, where there were springs, there had been no sign of water anywhere, and few signs at all of animal life, except for scratlike creatures, and the occasional ravens, circling for carrion. On both sides of the trail loomed reddish gray peaks, peaks without a hint of either vegetation or moisture.
With the narrowness of the trail-like road, Alucius understood all too well why the Deforyans used packhorses and narrow-bodied wagons to bring supplies—and the fact that they did so, and apparently had for generations, gave him a greater understanding of why the Lord-Protector worried about Deforya falling to the nomads, because it would be so difficult to retake from a superior force.
“No wonder they call it the Barrier Range,” Longyl said from slightly behind and to the left of Alucius.
“We aren’t even to the middle of the mountains,” Alucius replied, wiping away even more of the fine and gritty red dust that seeped everywhere. There was no breeze at all, and the dust rose and hung in the air, waiting to cling to the troopers and officers. Once more, Twenty-first Company was riding fourth in the contingent from the west, and that meant ninth out of ten companies. Only poor Feran was eating more dust. “Not quite anyway.”
“Don’t see why the nomads would even want this land,” Longyl said.
“They don’t. They want Dereka and the high road and the trade that travels it. They already control the southern high road to Lustrea.”
“Seems like we’re always being sent out to save one bunch of traders or another some golds.” Longyl shook his head. “You’d think that this Aellyan Edyss would have some better use for pteridons than taking lands to get more golds.”
“Maybe he does,” Alucius said, “and maybe all the traders can’t imagine him wanting anything but golds. But…” He paused for a moment, then went on, “if he does, that makes it more dangerous for us, because he’ll want Deforya whatever the cost.”
“You think he wants to claim the dual scepter? I always thought that was just a story.”
“It is a story, or a legend, whatever you want to call it,” Alucius said. “No one’s ever seen it. That’s what my grandsire said, years ago. But everyone thought pteridons were a legend, too.”
“I wish they’d stayed a legend,” Longyl replied. “You know, sir, things are never dull around you. Not for long.”
“We could use them being dull,” Alucius replied. “For a good year. Starting now.”
“They won’t be,” Longyl prophesied.
Alucius agreed. He didn’t think that matters would stay dull, not for more than the time it took to reach the southern side of the Barrier Range where the Deforyan patrol camp was located. Recalling the references to the mountain spirits, Alucius had been scanning the areas beside the trail frequently, but without success.
He’d been unable to detect any sign of either the blue-violet creatures he had sensed in the Upper Spine Mountains or of any other large living beings. He also realized that the sense of sadness or sorrow he had felt in Deforya—and which had seemed to dissipate as he had ridden south—was gone. In its place was…nothing. Rather, the lifewebs were sparse, and the sense of aliveness that underlay most land through which he had traveled was gone. Even the Upper Spine Mountains had felt alive, if subdued. Until he had reached the Barrier Range, Alucius wouldn’t really have thought about the difference.
“Something’s going on up there.” Longyl stood in his stirrups. “They’re stopping.”
“Column halt!” Alucius called out the order, even before he heard the order.
Before long, a trooper appeared. “Overcaptain, sir, all officers to the front.”
Longyl glanced at Alucius.
“We’ll see,” Alucius said. “Have them stand down and make sure they drink.” He eased Wildebeast forward
, then around the trailing troopers in Eleventh Company.
He had to ride over a vingt along the winding trail before he reached the head of the column. There, the majer over the five Deforyan companies and Majer Draspyr waited, mounted and facing the other captains and overcaptains.
“Majer Weorynak,” began Draspyr, “requested this brief meeting. Behind us is the body of a nomad scout. We believe he was a scout. The majer will have a few words to say once you have ridden by and taken a good look at the nomad.”
Alucius was the next to last to ride up to the side of the trail, with only Feran behind him. There were two bodies there—one of a man and the other of his mount. Both desiccated figures looked to have spent weeks—or years—in the heat and dryness, yet the glittering blue breastplate of the nomad held but the slightest coating of dust. The nomad had been dark-haired, but surprisingly fair-skinned, wrinkled and weathered though his face had been—and young. The mount had been a gray, but had been reduced to skin and hair shrunken around bones. The two lay in a heap as if they had been struck down instantly. The rider’s right hand still grasped a rifle, as if he had just lifted it clear of its holder. While similar to both Matrite and Deforyan rifles, it was not quite the same, and the steel of the barrel was more obviously blued.
Alucius rode past, then returned to the others, silently. After Feran pulled up beside him, the Deforyan majer cleared his throat.
“This trail was empty when the last dispatch came through here, no more than four days ago,” Majer Weorynak said. “You can see what the spirits of the mountains can do to a man who rides alone. It is advisable to ride at least in pairs.” He turned his mount away, as if to indicate that he had offered all that needed to be said. The Deforyan officers also turned their mounts.
“That’s all,” Draspyr announced. “Back to your companies.”
Alucius eased Wildebeast around and started back down the trail toward Twenty-first Company, reflecting. The Matrites had also had a policy against scouts going out alone. At the time, he’d thought it was just another way to keep torque-wearers under control, but had there been another reason—one never voiced. Or was it coincidence?
He had almost reached Twenty-first Company when he heard a voice behind him.
“Alucius?”
At Feran’s call, he slowed Wildebeast and eased to the side of the trail in the space between Eleventh and Twenty-first Companies.
“What do you think?” Feran asked.
“The same as you do, I’d wager. Whatever did that might be able to pick off single troopers, but they won’t do much against larger forces.”
“Column forward!” came the command from the south.
Alucius gestured to Longyl, who repeated the order.
Alucius and Feran had to ride shoulder to shoulder as they continued along the dusty incline.
“First…pteridons, and now these…spirits,” Feran said.
“I’m more worried about the pteridons,” Alucius replied. “The Deforyans have dealt with the spirits for generations. No one’s seen pteridons since the Cataclysm—not until now.”
“You think that whatever it was that killed the nomad might be helpful? Reduce the number of nomads?”
“I don’t know.” Whatever had killed the man, Alucius knew, was rare, and there weren’t that many. That he could tell from his Talent, and he had doubts that the creature or creatures could stop an invasion of thousands of nomads backed with pteridons.
For that matter, he wondered, not for the first time, what sort of tactics he or anyone could use against well-armed riders, backed by flying creatures that had already routed one of the largest forces in Corus.
55
Tempre, Lanachrona
The Recorder of Deeds stood alone in the marble-walled room deep beneath the palace of the Lord-Protector, his eyes fixed on the Table of the Recorders.
The mirrored-silver surface swirled and was covered in ruby mists. Then, out of the ruby mists, mists that had taken on a purplish black tinge, appeared the commanding figure of a man, tall, broad-shouldered, with violet-red eyes, alabaster skin, and black hair. Behind him was a hall with pink marble walls, golden columns, and deep purple hangings trimmed in gold, a hall that resembled one of the few antique illustrations left of the now-vanished great halls of Elcien or Ludar.
The Recorder of Deeds studied the chamber, and the man, who smiled as if he knew he was being observed. Then the scene vanished, to be replaced by the view of a single page, half diagram, half text.
The Recorder squinted to make out what was displayed. As he read, his eyes widened, and he frantically reached for a sheet of paper, finding only a message tucked inside his silver vestments, which he flattened on the wood beside the glass, turning the reverse side up. Using the blank reverse side and a markstick, he began to copy the document, and the words beneath the clearly ancient illustration.
Sweat poured down his forehead. Several times, he had to blot the salty perspiration away from his eyes with his upper arm and sleeve as he feverishly continued to copy what the Table displayed.
In time, shivering and shuddering, his vestments and undergarments soaked, he released the image displayed in the table and staggered to the single chair set against the ancient wall, seating himself with a heavy thump. But his eyes, tinged with the slightest hint of purple, glittered as he read what he had copied, even as he massaged his aching forehead.
56
Another two days passed before the ten companies rode into the Deforyan fortress post on the southern edge of the Barrier Range. Black Ridge was a wide ledge set atop a dark outcropping of ancient lava. At the back of the ledge—the north side—rose a thousand-yard-high cliff—nearly sheer—while the southern side of the ledge ended in an equally sheer drop to the grasslands below. The flat section of the ledge itself was almost two hundred yards wide, and close to a vingt in length, with the entry trail at the eastern end. The western end of the ledge just halted where the sandstone curved forward, leaving a sheer drop from more than a thousand yards above to the grasslands below and a stone wall rising another thousand yards skyward.
Alucius worried about the position. While there was a narrow trail down to the grasslands, and while the cliffs made attack difficult, there was only one way back to Dereka. Why hadn’t the ancient builders created an alternative? Or had they been confident that they would never need another way out?
Both stables and quarters had been chiseled or cut out of the layer of red sandstone that formed the higher cliff at the back of the ledge. One set of stables was at each end of the areas that had been chiseled or cut out of the red sandstone. From the rounded edges of the doorways and arches, Alucius could tell that they had been tunneled out a long time ago. He could also see that wide arcing areas of the red sandstone around and above the arches were slightly darker than the other areas, but only around the archways and the very few windows cut into the red stone. He glanced farther to the west, but there were no such dark areas in the section of the cliff where there were no tunnels and arches.
“The stables are inside the large arches on the east end, the quarters on the west end…”
Following the orders, and after waiting for the companies that had arrived earlier, Alucius directed Twenty-first Company toward the stables. The five Deforyan companies stationed at Black Ridge before were forming up to head back to Dereka, almost as soon as Fifth Company had begun to stable their mounts.
When he had seen to his troopers and their mounts, and made sure that there was sufficient feed and hay—some probably gathered from the grasslands below—Alucius stabled Wildebeast in the section reserved for officers. He was leaving the stables when Feran stepped up beside him.
“They could hardly wait to leave. I’d say that means that the nomads are getting ready to attack, but I can’t believe—I guess I can, but…”
“That their commander let them leave?” Alucius raised his eyebrows. “We’re here. Why would they want to lose another five companies in t
he Barrier Range? They’ll claim they’ll fight to protect Dereka if the nomads get that far.”
“Dereka…” muttered Feran. “I suppose so. It’s the only thing of value we’ve seen—except the orchards.”
Captain Clifyr walked toward the two, gesturing toward the second archway from the west end, cut into the red sandstone. “The officers’ quarters are in there. You can take any space that’s vacant, but it’s two to a room. As soon as you can, the majer would like to meet. There’s a conference room just inside that same archway.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Alucius nodded politely, then shifted the saddlebags on his shoulder, and with a rifle in each hand, headed for the indicated archway.
Feran matched his steps. “I still don’t much care for him.”
“He does what the majer wants.”
“Maybe that’s why.”
The officers’ quarters amounted to small windowless cubicles little more than three yards by two, set along a corridor with a surprising high ceiling—almost three yards high. Each had two bunks, but was doorless, with a shelf above the head of each bunk, and a series of pegs above the foot. Alucius doubted that both men could dress at the same time.
“Which bunk do you want?” Feran grinned. “After all, you have the rank.”
“I’ll take the one on the left.” Not that it made much difference, since they were identical. After quickly setting his gear on the shelf, Alucius slipped out of the confined space and walked farther down the corridor. Just short of the end was a vertical air shaft from which poured cooler air, creating a flow of air from the back of the corridor forward. Beyond the air shaft was a bathing chamber, with a small fountain, clearly fed by some sort of underground source.
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