Legacies (37 page)

As the late spring snow swirled around the stead house, the three sat around the kitchen table, taking in the warmth from the iron stove that had been used to prepare the supper they had just finished eating.

“Have you heard anything from Alucius?” asked Veryl, her voice so thin that her husband and her daughter had to lean forward at the table to hear.

Royalt shook his head. “The militia has pressed every possible company of horse into the battle. They're not getting much time off.”

“Have you heard how it's going?” asked Lucenda.

“I had so hoped we would get a message this month,” Veryl said, almost querulously. “He's always been such a good boy. Has young Wendra heard from him?”

“If Alucius hasn't been able to send us a message, I doubt that she's received one,” Lucenda said dryly. She did not look directly at her mother, but at her father. “I saw another company of horse riding north this afternoon on my way back from town.”

“Kustyl says that we've pushed the Matrites back out of Soulend. They still hold the old outpost. He's worried that they're going to bring in even more troopers. They had some Talent-weapon, but it exploded. Without it, they're not as good as we are. The winter's helped too. They're not used to the cold.”

“What will happen when it warms up?” asked Lucenda.

“Not much besides what's already happening—unless we get heavy rain. That could hurt, because we couldn't use all the back stead roads.”

“I just don't understand why he hasn't written,” fretted Veryl. “It's not like him. It just isn't. You're sure he's all right?”

“He should have recovered from that wound,” Royalt replied. “If he hadn't, we would have heard.” He turned to his daughter. “It's a good thing Clyon took over the defense of Soulend personally,” Royalt said with a snort. “He sent that idiot Dysar back to Dekhron.”

“Why don't they get rid of Dysar?”

“Because he's not too bad at handling administrative things, because he's related to half the Council, because the Council wants their fingers on the militia, and because they still think the Matrites are traders and that if we hold them off long enough, they'll go away, like the Lanachronans did.”

“Will they?”

“Our only real hope is that we can bleed them dry enough that the Lord-Protector will make a grab for Southgate or the southern fruit-lands of Madrien.”

“That's a slim hope,” Lucenda noted.

“Not so slim as it once was—”

“It's not like him not to write,” Veryl repeated. “I just don't understand it, such a thoughtful boy, not writing his mother.”

“He's trying very hard to do his job and stay alive, dear,” Royalt said gently. “There are at least twice as many Matrite troopers as we have. Between cleaning his gear and getting sleep and fighting, I'm sure he has little time. He also may not have anything to write on or with.”

“That's certain enough,” Lucenda added.

Royalt nodded, both at her words and the second meaning behind them.

“You both say that. I still think he could write.”

“I'm most certain that if Alucius could write, dear,” Royalt said patiently, “he surely would.”

Lucenda nodded, then looked down at the table, before turning and rising abruptly. “There are dishes to be done.”

“He should write,” Veryl murmured. “He should.”

Lucenda and Royalt exchanged sad glances, before Lucenda went to check the kettle that held the hot wash water for the dishes.

After nearly a week of patrols, and no success in finding the Lanachronan raiders, seventh squad returned to Senob Post on Septi. The squad had Novdi off—after a very long Octi that had begun with cleaning of tack and riding gear and ended just before supper with an inspection where Alben went over everything from uniforms to gear to bunks and spaces.

Midmorning had just passed when Alucius and Oryn straightened their undress green uniforms—their pass uniforms—and started to leave the barracks. Most of the older troopers in seventh squad had either gone back to their bunks, except for Brekka and Daafl, who were playing leschec with the pieces borrowed from the library and set up on Daafl's footchest. Alucius paused to study the positions on the board.

“You play?” asked Daafl.

“I used to,” Alucius admitted. “It's been a while.”

“Good to know,” said Daafl. “Always good to have a third. You two going out?”

“We thought we would,” said Oryn. “Alucius hasn't seen the town.”

“Be careful of your many coins.” Brekka laughed, good-naturedly.

“We'll try,” Alucius promised, with a smile.

Oryn and Alucius left the barracks, worked their way through the linked and stone-paved courtyards of the post, and made their way to the south gates. From there, they began to walk westward along the high road toward Zalt.

“You're good at leschec, aren't you?” asked Oryn.

“I was all right. I learned from watching my grandsire.”

“He was a herder, wasn't he?”

Alucius nodded.

“Figured as much, with the nightsilk undergarments.” Oryn shook his head. “Lucky for you that no one else can wear them. Say they'll stop most sabre cuts.”

“They'll stop an angled slash,” Alucius admitted, “but they don't do anything for your hands, or head.”
Except if you wear a skullmask
. Alucius was still amazed that he had his, flattened inside the left thigh of his underdrawers. “Bullets or hard blows with big blades, and you'll get a lot of broken bones, if not worse.”

“Still…that's something. True that once they're made you can't retailor them?”

“Not without very special equipment, and you still could ruin the nightsilk and get nothing.”

“Someone else wear them?”

“If they're smaller…but then they wouldn't do near as much good, because the silk would be loose and a hard cut would just transmit the thrust like an extension of the blade. Be worse with a bullet.”

In turn, Oryn nodded. “Figured something like that. Might get hurt even worse that way.”

Alucius shrugged. “Might help some, or it could be worse. Matter of luck.”

“How come you didn't get to be a herder?”

“It didn't work out. I got conscripted.” That was true enough.

“You might be able to go back by the time your service is up.”

“In twenty years?” Alucius laughed, ruefully. “When Madrien holds the Iron Valleys?”

“Talbyr said that they're sending more companies to the north. Thinks we were pushed back some.” Oryn shook his head. “Might take longer, but it won't change anything.”

Alucius managed to nod. He had to hope otherwise. Whatever the reason, the spear-thrower had exploded. With it gone, he just hoped that the militia could throw back the Matrites.

“Now here, we got problems on both sides. Southgate—the traders own everything. Mean bastards, I hear tell, and they hire meres from Dramur. The Lanachronans…you know what they're like. They don't take captives. Wouldn't do any good for troopers, and they hate Madrien women. Be better if we could clean 'em both out.”

“We don't have enough troopers here to do that, do we?”

“A course not.” Oryn frowned. “Not that I'm putting your place down, you understand, but takin' Southgate would do Madrien lot more good than the Iron Valleys would. Don't see why the Matrial did that. Not as though the Valleys were a threat the way the Lanachronans are.”

From what he'd seen so far, Alucius would have had to agree. Yet Madrien had been successful and seemed most prosperous, and little he had seen had been done without reason. He did not respond as they walked across the north-south high road, and he followed Oryn toward a wide street that angled northwest from the crossroads.

Abruptly, Alucius looked up. On the maneuver grounds to the south, there looked to be two full companies practicing. “Did we get more troopers? I didn't hear tell of that.”

Oryn followed Alucius's glance, then shook his head. “No. Those are the auxiliaries. You'll see them practicing. That's one reason why we can get by with two companies here. If she needs to, the captain can call them up. There are either two or three companies here.”

“Who are—”

“Mostly women, those who didn't want to try for officer training, and some of the troopers with stipends. They get another gold a month if they serve with the auxiliaries. They can do that for five years after they're stipended. Easy way to make a little more.”

“Oh.” Alucius wondered. Tymal had mentioned auxiliaries, but not any details.

“You'll learn to recognize them,” Oryn added. “They say some of them are pretty good.”

After another long look southward, Alucius glanced at the town ahead, even while his thoughts lingered on the auxiliaries. On the surface, Zalt looked like every other Madrien town Alucius had passed through, with the neatly dressed stone walls, the walled courtyards, the paved streets and sidewalks. The only obvious difference was that the roofs were of white tile, rather than of the dark slate of the more northern towns. There were but a handful of folk out, mostly older men and women, and not a one paid any attention to the two troopers, other than a casual look, or in the case of one gray-haired and bent man, a nod.

After three blocks, Oryn turned right. A hundred yards later, they stood in a plaza of sorts, and in the center was a marketplace—a smaller version of the one in Hieron.

“Ah…I need to see someone,” Oryn said.

Alucius could sense both the truth and the unease behind the statement. He smiled. “Have a good time.”

“How did you know?” Oryn looked slightly askance.

“I'm the most junior, and don't really know my way around. You thought no one would think much if you were showing me Zalt. And you wouldn't be going this early if it weren't for someone.” Alucius was partly guessing. “I'll just look around.”

Oryn looked sheepish. “You don't mind?”

“Sanders, no.”

Oryn frowned at the word “sanders,” but it had slipped into the Madrien Alucius had been speaking, really without thought. “You're sure?”

“I'll be fine,” Alucius said.

With a smile of obvious relief, Oryn stepped away, heading toward the stalls and carrels on the west side of the structure, walking around the building, rather than into the central courtyard.

Alucius walked straight into the courtyard, studying the stalls. He finally made his way along the north side, eventually pausing by the carrel that held the cooper's wares. All the barrels were of a plain white oak—good and serviceable, but not nearly so good as Kyrial's work. A sense of emptiness filled him, for a long moment, as the barrels reminded him of Wendra. Would he ever see her again?

“You once a cooper's apprentice?” asked the woman tending the stall. Like Alucius, and unlike most of the women, she wore a torque. Her skin was dusky, and lined, with webs radiating from her eyes, eyes that were dark and intent. She wore a plain brown shawl over a long-sleeved tunic, also brown.

“No, but I knew one well, and spent time in his shop.”

“You're a northerner. From Harmony or Klamat?”

“Nearer to Harmony,” Alucius replied.

“Does it get as cold as they say there?”

“It gets cold, much colder than here.” Alucius paused but briefly, before asking, “You must be from somewhere warmer than here.”

“Southgate. When my mistress died, I fled here. That was ten years ago.”

“You were a cooper's apprentice?”

“Me? No, young man, I was a lady's maid, and her master's whore. But then, all women are in Southgate.”

Alucius tried not to wince at the bluntness, and the bitterness that he could feel—even with his weakened Talent—wash over him like an acid torrent.

“My man, he was a trooper like you, but he learned coopering when his leg was hurt, and the troopers kept him to work in the supply depot in Salcer, and then at Zalt. He got his stipend three years ago, and now we have a shop here.”

“I wish you well, lady,” Alucius said, “although it would appear that you need little in the manner of wishes.” He gestured at the range of barrels.

“Thank you. You are kind. Business could be better, but it is not bad.” With a smile, she turned from Alucius to a heavyset woman who walked toward the carrel. “Honored Yelen…”

Alucius slipped away, moving to the next stall, one where all manner of woven baskets were displayed, some woven so deftly that scenes were depicted in darker straw. The gray-haired and collared man who sat on the battered stool beside the wall watched Alucius, but said nothing.

After a time, Alucius moved on, checking the platters and kettles of a coppersmith, and then the blankets of a weaver, thick and soft, but not so fine as nightsilk. From somewhere he caught the odor of fried fish. While he had no trouble eating fish, it was far from what he preferred, but it was much, much better than honeyed prickle—even the pickled sea-lettuce often served in the mess was better than prickle slices.

Leaving the weaver's stall, he sensed a swirl of Talent. His eyes turned toward the central open space. A slender older woman wearing a purple tunic, and trousers—and a thin black sash—stepped into the courtyard. Without seeming to, people eased away from the woman, leaving her in a space of her own as she made her way toward the stalls in the eastern section.

There was something…Alucius almost nodded. She wore the same clothing as the executioner had in Hieron. He studied her with his Talent, not searching, but trying to receive. He almost staggered at the pinkish purple forces that swirled around her, and the sense of wrongness, even evil within them. The forces swirled into nothingness in one way, yet there was an unseen line of Talent-power that pointed northward. The lines of power beckoned to him, almost as if he could reach out and touch them. But…then what would he do—especially if she sensed what he was doing?

“Good thought, trooper,” came the voice of the middle-aged woman weaver behind him. “Best you be careful with the Matrial's representative.”

“Thank you,” Alucius said, turning. “Is she the only one here in Zalt?”

The weaver, who also wore a torque, if of the more ornate style worn by those few women Alucius had observed, shook her head. “They always come in pairs. Zalt has four. Salcer eight, I've heard tell.”

Alucius blotted his forehead.

“Northerner, aren't you?”

Alucius laughed softly. “Everyone seems to take one look at me and know.”

“For Zalt, it's a pleasant day. You're already warm.”

“You're from around here?”

“Fled from Southgate years back.”

Alucius wondered how many women had done that. Finding two in less than a glass was probably more than coincidence. “You ever hear from anyone there?”

“How?” The woman laughed, ruefully. “Not that there's probably anyone left, but traders from Southgate are forbidden to take messages or goods or coins to or from Madrien. The Lanachronan traders—they would, if one had the golds, but not to or from Southgate.” She shrugged. “No one else travels the high road beyond Madrien.”

“You seem to know much about that.”

“There's always a young trooper—like you—who wants to get a message home. It's easy if home's in Madrien. It's possible, and expensive, to get a message to Lanachrona, but not back from there…not to anyplace else…it's so seldom any other traders come here.”

Alucius had hoped, but he would keep his eyes and ears open.

Oryn appeared from nowhere. “There you are.”

Alucius bowed to the weaver. “Thank you.”

He got a faint smile in return.

“I saw the Matrial's representative,” Oryn said, drawing Alucius back into the shadows between stalls. “You want to stay away from them.”

“That's what the weaver told me.” Alucius paused. “They don't like troopers spending time with local girls?”

“There's nothing forbidding it,” Oryn said.

“But you don't want to cause her trouble.”

Oryn nodded.

In a sense, Madrien remained a puzzle. Alucius turned. “I think I've seen enough for now.”

“You don't want to go and have a bite at the cafe?”

“My silvers are few,” Alucius said with a laugh. “Remember, I'm new.”

“What else are they good for but spending?”

“Next time,” Alucius promised.

Oryn was probably right, but Alucius didn't feel like spending. After growing up and seeing his grandsire watch every silver, he'd never enjoyed spending coins for pleasure, or gaming. He wasn't that hungry, and he had yet to find any way to send a message home. So all he really wanted to do was go back to the barracks and hole up in the library and read more about Madrien. If he learned more, then…perhaps…what he saw would fit together in his mind. At the least, he'd feel better about trying to understand the culture into which he had been forced, and which he was defending, whether he wished to or not. And…perhaps he might find an opportunity…

“Are you sure?” Oryn had a worried expression on his face.

“I'm fine.” Alucius offered a smile. “I just need time to feel more at home.” Not that he ever would, he feared.

“You might pick up a honey roll before you go back. You can get two for a copper, and they are good,” Oryn suggested.