Legacies (34 page)

More than a week later, again just before the scheduled morning classroom instruction, squad leader Jesorak appeared with an order. “Mount and form up in the courtyard.”

Alucius could sense that the squad leader was less than happy, but, as a trainee, he wasn't about to say anything. He and the ten other troopers-in-training saddled their mounts and led them out into the courtyard. There, under a clear and hot sun that was more like summer than spring, a round-faced, blonde woman wearing a captain's uniform and insignia was mounted beside the squad leader. Despite her pleasant appearance, Alucius could sense the coldness behind the facade.

As soon as the eleven were mounted and formed in a two-abreast column, Jesorak announced, “You've seen the benefits of what Madrien has to offer. Captain Tyeal is going to take us to see what happens to law-breakers in Hieron.”

Once the column was headed eastward, Alucius and Sazium exchanged glances, but not words. Sazium glanced forward and raised his eyebrows. Alucius shrugged in return.

As they rode away from Eltema Post and toward the center of Hieron, Alucius could see that the streets, while not totally empty, had far fewer souls on them than had been the case in the other few rides that they had taken since arriving in Hieron.

After about three vingts, they rode up another inclined stone ramp, and crossed the ancient road, descending on the far side into an area of the city where the dwellings were larger, and with walled courtyards in both the front and rear.

Their destination was a circular plaza two vingts to the west of the ancient north-south highway that divided Hieron into eastern and western sections. The plaza was unadorned, a paved expanse a good three hundred yards across set in the middle of a parklike expanse. Just to the west was the hill park with the Matrial's low and sprawling stone dwelling.

In the center of the plaza was a circular gray stone platform—actually a platform within a platform. The outer platform was roughly fifty yards across, and raised a yard above the redstone paving. The inner platform was twenty yards in diameter and raised two yards above the outer platform. Each platform had a set of stone steps on the south side. The lower paved section of the plaza was more than half filled, mainly with men and women on foot, although there were more than a score of small carriages lined up together on the southwest quarter.

The squad leader guided them to an open space less than twenty yards back from the edge of the lower stone platform, but on the southwestern side. “Double staggered line, six and five,” Jesorak ordered. “Guide on me.”

Once the trainees were aligned, Jesorak added, “Saddle ease…no talking.”

Alucius shifted his weight in the saddle, then studied the platform.

Two people stood strapped in T-shaped braces on a temporary wooden stand on the south side of the inner stone platform. One was a powerfully built woman, her thick brown hair cut short. She glared at the assembled crowd, and a scabbed scar running from below her ear to the base of her nose stood out. Opposite her was a man, taller and even more powerfully built, if older, and partly gray-haired.

Both wore the silver torques, and plain gray trousers and shirts.

A squad of guards—all women—stood in the open space between the two prisoners. The guards wore forest green tunics, but the piping was not crimson, but a pale purple, and the cuffs of their tunics were also pale purple. Before the guards, stood another woman with a thatch of short gray hair and a firm, hard jaw. Her tunic and trousers were purple, and the piping green. She wore a black sash that ran from her left shoulder across her chest to her right hip.

As Alucius and the others waited, more people filtered into the plaza until, more than a half a glass later, it was more than two-thirds full. By then, Alucius was sweating in the heat. A trickle of moisture ran down the back of his neck, and he continually blotted his face and forehead.

From somewhere a bell rang, and all the murmurs and whispers died away.

The gray-haired official stepped forward. “We are here to do justice. You are here to see justice done. So be it.” She turned toward the woman. “You, Luisine of Hieron, cheated the Matrial by failing to pay your tariffs, and lied about the revenues from your business. When you feared your husband would reveal your lawbreaking, you murdered him and falsely claimed you had acted in self-defense because he had abused you. He had done no such thing. When the auditors confirmed your dishonesty and your murder, you attacked and wounded them. For committing murder, for your treachery, and your dishonesty, you have been sentenced to die.” A pause followed the words. “Have you any last words of repentance?”

“None! I have done no more than any of you. You cannot judge me fairly—”

“Justice will be done!”

Alucius expected the pinkish force to appear, but the manifestation of Talent that he felt was mainly purple, with but an overshade of pink, and felt even more evil. The silver torque did not tighten. That Alucius could sense, but the effect was the same, as the woman remained silently defiant, her face turning red, then blue. Abruptly, she slumped forward, but it was more than a few moments before Alucius sensed the void that signified death.

“Justice has been done. The Matrial—eternal and ageless—be praised.” Almost without a pause, the woman in purple turned to the man at the west end of the platform. “Byreem of Hieron, formerly of Salcer, you have repeatedly abused your wife. Not only have you denied your actions, but you have continued that abuse. Do you confess your guilt? Do you have any last words of repentance?”

“I didn't do it!” The big man protested. “I didn't!”

Even from more than twenty yards away, Alucius could feel the truth of the man's protest.

“You lie. For your lies and your arrogance, and for forcing yourself upon a woman of Hieron, you will die. Justice will be done.”

Alucius could sense the purplish force, rising, both around the assistant to the Matrial, and somewhere else in the city. Without moving his head, he tried to locate the source of that power. While he could not be certain, it felt to him that it came from the west, from the park that held the Matrial's dwelling or mansion, probably from the dwelling itself.

Again, the silver torque did not tighten, but the man's protests were cut off, and his face turned red, then blue, before he slumped and fell forward in the T-shaped brace.

“Justice has been done. The Matrial—eternal and ageless—be praised.”

Justice? Power had been exerted. The woman had been guilty of all with which she had been charged, but the man had been innocent. Of that, Alucius was convinced. Yet he had died because a woman claimed she had been forced. Had the man used force, and had he not thought it was force? Alucius had known some like that. He had no doubts that Gortal would have felt that way, but the dead man had not seemed like a Gortal. Yet one never knew.

“Column reform!” ordered Jesorak.

While Alucius was far from absolutely certain, he was fairly sure that the power that had executed the two, and the power behind the collars, lay in the Matrial's compound. Not that he could do anything about it—but he clung to his grandsire's advice, and the hope that when he knew enough, he could act.

He also hoped he wasn't deceiving himself into accepting matters so much that he would never act.

Although spring had come before the calendar end of winter, the weather in Hieron did not remain cool and springlike, but continued to warm, so that by the time six more weeks had passed, spring was at least as warm in Hieron as full summer in Iron Stem. At the end of those six weeks, on Novdi, the ten experienced troopers were gathered before their morning “class” schedule in the teaching area. Two weeks earlier, the young Squawt Johens had been moved to another class of trainee troopers who had just begun.

There were no instructors, and Jesorak stood there. He was smiling. “Congratulations. Starting now, you're all troopers.”

“Sir?” blurted Sazium.

“We don't make a big ceremony about it.” He stepped forward and handed each man a silver collar pin—an “M” within a circle, covered with a sabre crossed with a rifle. When each had fastened the pin in place, he went on. “You're troopers. Your pay is standard, like every other base trooper, five coppers—a silver—a week. If you make junior squad leader, it will be doubled to two silvers. You also get two silvers for completing training.” He lifted a leather pouch. “We'll take care of that, now. Everyone seems to think it's more real when it's backed with silver.”

Alucius was the fourth to get the pair of silvers, which he slipped into his pocket, wishing he had the troopers' belt wallet on. He could not help but note that the Matrite pay was more than twice that of a militia trooper.

“You're going either to the Fortieth Company or to the Thirty-second,” Jesorak said. “Both are stationed at Senob Post at Zalt. Alucius, Beral, Kymbes, Murat, and Sazium—you five have been assigned to the Fortieth. The rest of you are going to the Thirty-second.

“You'll be issued your full uniforms, and your sabres and standard belt knives, when we finish here. You'll get your rifles when you get to your company. I'll remind you one last time that sabres are worn only on duty, or when traveling, unless otherwise ordered, and never in a town or city, except when you're riding through or on duty.

“On your off-glasses you can leave the post, but it's strongly recommended that you at least go in pairs…especially until you're more accustomed to Madrien. After we finish, you'll have the rest of today and Decdi free, except for whatever preparations you need. I wouldn't try to travel too far from post. You'll be riding out right after breakfast on Londi, and for the first time in over a month, you won't have a weapons class.” Jesorak grinned. “You'll be part of a resupply convoy—cartridges, travel rations, medicines—mainly that sort of thing. For the trip, you'll report to Squad Leader Gorak. Captain Sennel will be in command, with Undercaptain Porlel as number two.

“You should spend some time on your gear, but that's up to you. The shops south of the post are also open to you…In fact, any street where you can walk is open to you, but you're expected to stay close to Hieron.”

Doing anything else would have been difficult, Alucius reflected, when they were effectively limited by how far they could walk.

“That's all…and congratulations!”

In a way, Alucius reflected as he returned to the barracks, it was a let-down, but it was probably more honest. He was one of the few who took his time checking his uniforms, as well as polishing his gear, and then going to the armory and waiting to be able to sharpen the sabre in the way he wanted it done.

Only then did he fasten on his belt wallet and decide to explore the shops south of the post.

Sazium appeared, clearly having waited for Alucius. “You don't mind?”

“Soarers, no.” Alucius smiled. “This was so sudden, and I just had to think things over.”

“I didn't expect…” Sazium shook his head.

“They have a way of keeping us off-balance.” Alucius began to walk toward the doors, amazed in a sense that after months of effective captivity, he could just walk out, even if he were merely on a longer and unseen chain.

“I guess it's better than being in the stone quarries, and the Southern Guard isn't exactly a friend of the Iron Valleys, either.” Sazium fell in beside Alucius.

The two walked out through the gate and turned south on the redstone sidewalk. The slight haze high overhead kept the day from being too hot, but Alucius could still feel a trace of sweat around his neck.

“You hungry?” asked Sazium.

“I could stand to eat—if it doesn't cost too much.”

“What else are we going to spend it on?”

Sazium had a point, Alucius had to admit.

They crossed the narrow street just beyond the south wall of the post. The first shop was what Alucius would have called a miniature chandlery—one where numerous small items were on sale, including dried meats and triangular sections of cheeses in wax.

“Might not be a bad idea to pick up a few things,” murmured Sazium.

“You'll be needing more than a few things, troopers!” The deep voice came from a surprisingly small white-haired man who was adding some waxed cheese sections to those on a small square table. “You can't always count on meals in the field. That's something I can tell you from experience.”

Alucius noted the ubiquitous torque. “I'm certain you can. What would you suggest for those with very limited coins?”

“The dried beef keeps well—four strips for a copper. So does the dried fruit, and I make sure it's got dried lemon strips with it so that it helps keep your mouth from bleeding…”

“We'll be back,” Alucius promised.

The second shop was a tailor's—of sorts. There were tunics that were not uniforms, and all were in subdued or solid shades—dark blue, deep maroon, a blackish gray that was close to the color of Alucius's hair. There was also a display of riding undergarments, as well as several vests similar to the one Alucius had been permitted to keep, if without the nightsilk. Besides the undergarments, everything else was far above what Alucius had in his wallet.

Outside, they passed Kymbes and Murat.

“You two looking for something to eat?” asked the taller Murat.

“We were thinking that way,” replied Sazium.

“Down that passage just ahead. Little cafe inside the courtyard. Fair eats, fair price.”

“Are you going back to the chandlery?” asked Alucius.

“Thought we might,” Kymbes said. “Haven't seen anyplace else that has anything we'd need, not that we've got the coins for.” He laughed.

“Always true if you're a trooper, no matter where,” Murat added sardonically.

Sazium laughed. After a moment, so did Alucius, and he and Sazium passed the other two and turned down the passageway, little more than a yard and a half wide, between two stone walls.

The cafe was small—four tables in the open courtyard, and a stove and grill in a small wall alcove. At one table were two older troopers, finishing whatever they had ordered. A round-faced man with deep lines in his face, but with jet-black hair, presided over the establishment. The proprietor wore a brown apron, on which there were splatters of food. He stepped forward before Alucius and Sazium reached the nearest table.

“What would you boys like?”

“What are the choices?” replied Alucius good-naturedly.

“Fried oarfish roll, chicken roll, beef roll; weak ale, cider, redjuice; fried potatoes—that's pretty much it.”

“How much for beef and ale?” questioned Alucius. He wasn't at all enthused about the fish roll, not after nearly two months of fried fish.

“Two coppers for the beef roll and one for the ale.”

Alucius glanced at the chalkboard behind the man, checking the prices. Somehow, the written Madrien was even easier to figure out than the spoken. The prices seemed to agree with what the proprietor had said. “It says that the beef roll comes with fynel.” He looked apologetic. “What is that?”

“This stuff.” The proprietor held up a plant that looked to Alucius like green quarasote without the spikes. “Gives the meat a better taste.”

“I'll try it—with the ale.” Alucius laughed and handed over three coppers.

“Chicken roll—without the fynel,” added Sazium.

“Coming up. Take a seat.”

Alucius settled on the table on the south side, in the shade, and sat down on a sturdy wooden chair, varnished, rather than oiled, as was the square wooden table. Sazium seated himself across from him.

“Strange, isn't it?” mused Sazium. “One day, we're prisoners. A month later, we're trainees, and now we're troopers for the enemy.”

“Not much choice,” Alucius pointed out.

“Some folks would say we're traitors.”

“They might,” Alucius agreed. “They don't have collars around their necks, and we haven't been asked to fight against the Iron Valleys.”

“Here you go, boys!” The round-faced proprietor set two platters on the table, then hurried back with two tall beakers of weak ale.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I can remember how good it was to get something besides from the mess.”

“You were a trooper?” asked Sazium.

“Almost twenty years. Stayed the last five 'cause they double your stipend if you do. Saved a few silvers, then a few golds, and took this over ten years ago. Enjoy it.” With a smile, the man turned and headed toward another pair of troopers who had entered the courtyard.

“First time in near-on a year…get to eat something I choose,” mumbled Sazium through a mouthful of the grilled fowl roll.

Alucius nodded, then managed to hold back a frown as the two much older troopers, who had been eating when they entered the courtyard, stepped toward their small table.

The one who led was a junior squad leader, with a thin scar across his right temple, and another across his left cheek. He offered a friendly smile. “Jesorak said you fellows would be getting your pins today. How does it feel?”

“Better than not having it,” Sazium replied.

Alucius took a small swallow of the ale and nodded.

“Fair enough,” said the graying but junior squad leader. “Where are you being sent?”

Sazium glanced at Alucius before answering, “Senob Post, Zalt.”

The junior squad leader looked to the other squad trooper. “Told you the Lanachronans would be moving there, making a play toward Southgate.” He looked back at Sazium. “They always send the newest trainees to where they think the fighting will be—that's not against their own land, that is.”

“Not at first,” muttered a voice, the proprietor, Alucius thought.

“After a while, it doesn't matter,” replied the junior squad leader. “You find out that who has the power doesn't matter. Only matters how they treat those who don't.”

Those words chilled Alucius, but he managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face, even as he considered the implications.

“Have a good journey. Remember, the Southern Guards all try to kill you with the first two passes. Not much follow-through.” With a nod, the aging junior squad leader turned.

“Good thought,” Alucius murmured, almost to himself.

“What?” asked Sazium.

“Just thinking. It isn't how you start the battle. It's how you end up.” Alucius needed to keep that in mind.