Legacies (14 page)

Under the bright silver afternoon sky, a squad of heavy foot held formation around a shimmering hexagonal device set on the back of a wagon. The wagon had its wheels blocked in place on a knoll overlooking a meadow below. From the device projected a green-tinged crystalline barrel. The front third of the wagon held a hopper filled with sand. Three other wagons, also filled with sand, were lined up to the west.

The Matrite Fifth Horse Company remained out of sight on the back of the hill to the south side of the midroad, while the Fourth and Fifth Foot remained hidden in the trees above the steeper incline on the north. In the valley below the knoll was a thin line of cavalry, troopers spread well apart and riding slowly eastward. Farther to the east, amid the scrub oak and scattered pines, were shadowy figures of mounted raiders.

Hyalas stood in the wagon next to the control panel of the device. Beside him waited another man, also in brown, and also wearing a silver torque and holding a shovel. Mounted on a black stallion beside the wagon was a tall and lanky woman, wearing the crimson and green of Madrien, as well as the crescent moon insignia of an arms commander.

Hyalas adjusted the mechanism.

“I would appreciate it, Engineer Hyalas,” suggested the arms-commander, “if you would be ready to use your device before the barbarians decide to turn and run.”

“It is almost ready, honored Vergya. I did suggest that it be improved before it was brought to the field.”

From the saddle on the black stallion, the tall Vergya laughed. “Best you keep such sentiments between us, Engineer. The Matrial is not known for her humor.” The arms-commander nodded to the bugler mounted beside her.

A series of notes rang out across the hill.

The troopers in the valley below turned their mounts, and an officer yelled, “Back! We're outnumbered. Back to the road.”

Even before the Madrien troopers had completed their turn, mounted riders wearing a plaid of yellow and black burst out of the brush and pines, galloping toward the outnumbered Madrien troopers. The Madrien forces spurred their mounts into a full gallop westward.

On the knoll above, Hyalas sighted and then pulled the lever with the green knob slowly downward, listening as the humming of the device rose into a high-pitched whine, and then seemed to cease. For several moments, nothing happened.

Then…miniature crystalline spears seemed to form a yard beyond the crystal muzzle of the device, then blurred outward in a spraying pattern, moving so quickly that each looked more like a focused sunbeam rather than a crystal projectile.

The spray of crystal struck the left side of the oncoming barbarians, and the riders disintegrated into a pinkish spray. Hyalas began to spin the wheel on the side of the device so that the muzzle slowly moved to the right, and with it, the shimmering line of crystal destruction.

Behind him, his assistant continued to feed the sand into the hopper at the rear of the device, and the crystal storm of destruction scythed across the plain below, leveling mounts and men alike—even some of the laggards among the retreating Madrien troopers—until the few remaining barbarians rode or crawled beyond the range of the deadly device.

A handful of men in yellow-and-black worried their way eastward and back over the hill.

Hyalas eased the green lever back into the unpowered position.

“Most effective, Engineer,” the arms-commander called. “I trust it will work as well against the forces of the Iron Valleys and the Southern Guards of Lanachrona.”

“I do not know about those of the Iron Valleys. It will be less effective against the Southern Guards because their armor will shield them somewhat.” Hyalas paused. “That is not quite right. It will be just as effective against those with armor, but it will take longer, because the armor will stop many of the crystal spears. There are so many spears that no armor will shield a man for more than a few moments, but I will have to track along the line of attack more slowly.”

“It is too bad we do not have another,” observed Vergya.

“The ancients built but one, and the records say that only one can operate at one time, anywhere in Corus.”

“Still…if we did not fight our battles at the same time, it would be useful to have one in the south and one here.”

“I can see that, honored Vergya. It would take much time and effort to construct another, and that is a decision not made by a lowly Engineer.”

“I will speak to the Matrial. Then we will see.” Vergya smiled. “Truly a lovely weapon. Yet we must be careful not to overuse it, or we will have fewer new recruits.”

Hyalas nodded deferentially.

In the twilight of a late summer day, after he had said good night to everyone, Alucius sat on the end of his bed, thinking. He was already eighteen, and he had heard nothing about the militia. So far as he knew, neither had his grandsire or his mother, although he could sense the growing tension in both. Then, if Wendra were right, he might not hear anything until close to the beginning of harvest.

He froze, hearing a murmur from the kitchen, then strained to make out the words.

“…should tell him…at least, let him have his guard…”

“…too dangerous for him…especially…has the hair…”

Too dangerous? What was too dangerous? Alucius eased down the ladder, trying to be as quiet as possible, and along the side of the hall. His mother and grandfather were sitting at the kitchen table. His grandmother had already slipped off to bed.

Standing in the shadows on the other side of the archway, Alucius listened.

“…Council's offer to let us buy out Alucius's conscription,” said Royalt, his voice low. “We still have to decide…applies to all holders, but…costly.”

“I've told you what I think. We could handle it.” Lucenda's voice was hopeful.

“It's high—half the golds from each year's sale of nightsilk for the three years…”

On the other side of the archway, Alucius winced. That much would destroy the holding.

“Three years?” questioned Lucenda. “You didn't tell me that. It used to be two.”

“I did, daughter. You didn't want to hear it. The Council needs more bodies and more coins. The raids are increasing. I asked about that new outpost. It isn't that new, but the Council has tried not to say anything about it.” Royalt offered a low snorting laugh. “Gortal bought out both his sons' terms. Then, he has the golds.”

“We should agree to the terms,” Lucenda said.

“No!” Alucius found himself saying, stepping out into the kitchen. “You can't give up the holding.”

For a long moment, the two at the table looked at him.

“I overheard. It's my future as well,” he pointed out.

“We could still manage. It would be hard, but we could.” Lucenda's voice was matter-of-fact, almost as if she had known Alucius had been there all along. “And what is the point of having a holding with no one to continue it?”

“What is the point of being raised a herder with no holding? How will I be able to defend it or gain support in Iron Stem if all know that my family paid my way out of my conscription? What woman will wed a herder that none respects? And if she does, will she face scorn and sneers? Will I get the respect in dealings that my grandsire receives? Or that you, Mother, receive because of my father?”

“What good did respect do him?” Lucenda asked quietly. “What good was honor after they laid him in an unmarked grave?”

Alucius found himself momentarily speechless.

“Respect is a word everyone loves, but it does little good, son, if you're not alive for people to respect you.” Lucenda rose. “You can talk it over with your grandfather. You know how I feel.”

She walked by him and down the hall. Her door closed with a hard thump.

“Thought it might come to this,” Royalt said slowly.

Alucius looked back over his shoulder toward the closed door.

“Go ahead and sit down.”

After a moment, Alucius did.

“I didn't mean to upset her,” he finally said. “I didn't.”

“Your mother's not too impressed with anything having to do with fighting,” Royalt said. “I thought you might have figured that out by now.”

“Because of my father?”

Royalt nodded. “He said some of the same things you did. She wasn't impressed with them when he said them, either. He said he wouldn't purchase his life—even if it came to that—with the blood of his wife's family. Your mother…she couldn't answer that.”

Alucius swallowed, and a long silence filled the kitchen.

“What really happened to my father?” Alucius looked to his grandsire.

“There are stories…but no one knows for sure.”

Alucius could sense both the untruth and the sadness. “That's not true.”

Royalt smiled bitterly. “You are a herder, and more. You can tell when someone isn't telling the truth, can't you? And you've been able to do that for years, haven't you?”

Alucius took a long breath. “Yes, sir.”

“Part of what I said
is
true. No one knows absolutely what happened on the Lower Road, the one that runs from Iron Stem and all the way to the ruins of Elcien, or so they say.” Royalt coughed, then cleared his throat. “The Reillies asked for a truce, under a green banner. Your father went to talk to their leaders. He was shot in the head by a sniper. Nightsilk doesn't protect what it doesn't cover. His company wiped out that part of the clan to the last woman and child.”

“You don't think he should have accepted the truce?”

“Not with the Reillies. Maybe not with anyone these days.” Royalt shook his head. “When I was your age, man's word was good. Man would rather die than dishonor his word. The world's changing, and it gets harder and harder to trust people's promises.”

“Is there…how…?” Alucius wanted to ask if his grandsire had any examples, any proof, but such a question sounded so cold, so…distrustful.

As if he understood, Royalt went on. “Last year, one of the big trading outfits in Borlan offered us a contract for nightsilk, at four golds a yard for ramsilk. When we came to deliver, they insisted they'd only offered three. I had the contract in writing, and threatened to sell the silk to one of the Madrien traders. The southerners paid four. They weren't happy, but they paid. Ten years ago, that wouldn't have happened. It didn't.” He snorted. “It sounds like a little thing, but it's not. How can people deal with each other if no one can trust anyone else to do what they promised? Do we have to agree to become part of Lanachrona to get the protection of their laws? What would keep their Lord-Protector from changing the laws every time he felt like it?”

“You think they would?”

“I know they would. They're more like Gortal than Gortal is. Gortal at least can see what the dust does to his scutters. The Lanachronans don't look, and they don't see. Reillies never have, never will. That leaves us, and now the Council's trying to bleed us. That notice was aimed at the big herders and Gortal. Figure some of the herders, especially those with more than a few boys, will be able to pay, and the Council really wants the golds more than the young fellows. They need rifles for the foot; they need replacement mounts, powder, provender—most everything. That's because they lowered tariffs ten years back and never laid anything aside. Don't want to say that outright, and they won't.”

“Grandfather…I've seen the ledgers. Even if I stayed here and worked. Even if Wendra came and helped, we couldn't pay that kind of tariff.”

Royalt nodded. “I figure you're right about that. Your mother and I have been arguing about that for days. She's already lost your father; she doesn't want to lose you. She doesn't care about the cost.”

“I won't be lost.”

“You can hope that, Alucius. You can't be sure of it, though, and you sure aren't going to convince her.”

Alucius could sense that. He paused, then shook his head. “It doesn't feel right. I don't want to fight. I'd rather herd. But…I can't…you'd lose everything, anyway, and what would there be for me? A job as an assistant cooper—if I'm lucky. Working as a scutter, if I'm not?”

“There are worse things…”

Alucius couldn't think of many, not after having ridden across Westridge in sun and in fog, and having looked to the plateau and seen the magic of nightwool being spun into nightsilk.

Royalt laughed, but there was bitterness in his amusement. “You're a herder just like the rest of us, Alucius…just like your father, like me, like my father, like my grandmother…”

“What do I tell Mother?”

“You don't have to tell her anything,” Royalt said sadly. “She knows. She always knew.”

Alucius and Wendra stood in the upstairs rear parlor above Kyrial's shop, holding hands and facing each other. Despite the open windows, there wasn't a hint of a breeze, and the curtains hung limply. Alucius could feel the sweat oozing down the back of his neck.

“When do you leave?” Wendra asked.

“The day after tomorrow—like you said, the first Londi in harvest. We meet here in the square at the second glass. We have to supply our own mount. Grandfather's already bought another to replace the gray.”

“They conscript you, and you have to pay for a mount?” Wendra's voice rose slightly.

“If you want to be cavalry,” Alucius said. “According to my grandsire, the casualties are higher among the foot.”

“I'm glad you'll be cavalry.”

“I won't be much of anything if I don't get through training. I could still be foot if I don't do well.”

“You will. You've ridden all your life.”

“That should help.”

After another silence, Wendra asked, gingerly, “Your mother…?”

“She's upset. She understands, but she doesn't like it. She feels like she loses no matter what happens.”

“Not if you take care of yourself. She'll still have the stead, and she wouldn't if they'd paid to get you out.”

“I'm still not there, and that will make life harder for her and Grandfather. Grandmother is failing.”

“The Council isn't fair,” Wendra said. “I suppose they can't be.”

“That's life. Someone always wants what someone else has. If you don't fight for it, you lose what you have. If you do, some people die and lose anyway.”

“You're not going to be one of them.” Her eyes were bright, but she had not shed any tears.

Alucius knew she wouldn't cry or weep, not while he was there. He'd never seen his mother cry either, but when she sang to herself late at night, he had often wished she had or would.

“No. I won't be.” Alucius
knew
that. But he also knew that just surviving would be far from easy.

He stepped forward and held Wendra once more.