Legacies (40 page)

In the darkness, Alucius stretched out on his bunk in the logging cottage that held seventh squad, about to fall asleep after a long and three-day ride through the hills from the southwest high road, at the beginning of yet another three weeks plus patrol. A wave of brown-green washed over him, and all thought of sleep was gone as he sat up abruptly.

He could sense one of the unseen creatures—the one with the brownish green feel—and not all that far from the patrol station. Quickly, he slipped to the pegs on the wall that held his uniform and pulled on trousers and tunic, boots and jacket. As an afterthought he added his sabre.

Only then did he step out onto the stoop of the cottage.

“Alucius?” asked Daafl, who was sitting on the stool used by those on guard duty.

“I need some air.”

“You're not…”

“I know. If someone complains, I'll say I went out the window. You didn't see me.”

Daafl shook his head. “Long as you get back soon. Not like there's anywhere to go. Or anyone to go to.” He chuckled softly.

“Thank you.” Alucius nodded. The isolation and restriction were more obvious in the mountains, but they existed everywhere in Madrien, and it sometimes amazed Alucius that so many of the other troopers did not seem to notice. A few did, like Daafl or Oryn, but most did not. Everyone was polite in Zalt, but, except for the handful of former troopers in the market and the refugees from Southgate, said little beyond pleasantries.

Without a look back, Alucius slipped into the night, moving alongside the cottage in the deeper shadows cast by the full orb of Selena—the spring planting moon. The air was chill, with a hint of mold, but dusty as well, but still, without even a hint of a breeze. From the lamps in the main building, he could see that Undercaptain Kryll was still up and awake. The problem with having half a company with a semipermanent patrol station was that an officer was always around.

At the end of the cottage holding seventh squad, Alucius eased to his left so that he would be on the back side of the next cottage, well out of the undercaptain's sight, should she even look out. From the back side of the last cottage, he walked eastward, downslope, away from the buildings until he was out between the tall firs. He moved easily, his boots almost silent on the carpet of needles, still damp enough from the snowdrifts left from the winter storms that had not finished melting until a few weeks earlier.

He walked silently away from the camp and into the deeper woods, into a stand of trees that had never been cut. He paused, abruptly, wondering how he had known that, and let his senses run across the towering trees and the ground. He did not know how…but he
knew
, in the same way he had known the land of his own stead.

He could still sense the brownish green, even stronger than before, as strong as a sander or a soarer, and not all that far away. After stopping beside the trunk of a tall fir, he gazed out from the shadows across the open space which held little but a scattering of seedling trees and a few thin stalks of last year's grass. He could smell a faint scent of the caroli, just about the only early spring flowers, and the only ones with a night perfume.

Whatever had created the brownish green was not far away, yet even with the night vision of a herder, at first he could see nothing. As he stood by the tall fir, he kept scanning the forest, both with his eyes and his Talent. Slowly, he took in what lay before him, sensing a faint green that permeated the ancient bristlecone pine on the far side of the open space, a tree gnarled and seemingly dwarfed by the taller firs and pines of the forest, yet with a depth and presence that made the other ancient evergreen monarchs less than shadows.

A girlish figure, seemingly clothed only in a subdued shimmer of light, stepped away from the ancient tree. The moonlight seemed to focus on her, deepening the shadows around the edge of the clearing, and she seemed made of green-and-silver light, never quite the same combination of colors as she moved.

Alucius waited, uncertain whether to slip away or to watch, yet knowing he would not leave, and not knowing why.

She continued to walk toward Alucius, her hands at her sides, her feet not touching the ground. Then she stopped, looking from the circle of moonlight that bathed her into the shadows where he stood.

You will have to leave the shadows before long
. The unspoken words chimed softly, bell-like, in his head.

He would, Alucius knew, because sooner or later the sun would rise. Somehow, he understood words were unnecessary.

Not those shadows…the ones cast over your soul
. She beckoned again.
Come…if you would…herder from the high lands…even with the evil collar you wear, we offer no harm
.

Alucius stepped forward, but he stopped short of the focused circle of moonlight that surrounded the girlish figure.
You're like the soarers…

You could call us cousins. We are the few souls of the woods, while they need the open skies where none watch
. The wood-spirit looked straight at Alucius.
You are part of the soul of the land
.

How could that be?

What is…is. The dark ties are too strong to be questioned
.

For the first time, he could sense the age of the youthful-looking figure…and the sadness.

Why do you allow them to hold you with the collar?

Alucius did not answer. The question implied that he had the choice, not the Matrites.
Because I fear I do not know how to remove it
.

It is less than a spider's web
.

They are spiders
.

There is but one spider…and all the unnatural webs spin from there. They are nothing to the strength of the ties that are. You could break that web whenever you wish. Do not wait until it is too late
.

Alucius watched as her hand extended to his neck, to the silver-gray torque. He could sense how she untwisted the purple and the pink. The collar fell away, and for a long moment, she held it in silver-white slim hands. Then she replaced it, and retwisted the spider threads of purple and pink.
You must do what you must do. We cannot
.

Alucius understood that.
Thank you
. He bowed his head.

There was a sense of laughter, not unkind, but not without an underlying tone of irony.
In time, we hope to owe you thanks
.

Being thanked by the wood-spirits he'd never imagined even existed?

We hope. We have hoped for generations. We hope you will understand and act before it is too late
. She stepped back, bowed gravely, and then turned and walked back to the bristlecone. As she reached it, her hand touched the nearest feathery branch, and she vanished. So did the circle of moonlight.

Alucius glanced up, but Selena still shone brightly. He looked back at the ancient tree. The greenish glow was gone from the bristlecone, yet he could sense that somehow it remained, though he could not see it. He watched for a time, but the brownish green was gone, as if it had never been.

Finally, he turned and began to walk uphill and back to the cottage.

Just short of the cleared area that held the camp he stopped. He let his senses drop over the torque he wore. Then he swallowed. Should he? If he didn't, would he remember what she had shown him. His fingers were almost trembling as he lifted his hands. Then he concentrated on following the pattern of unweaving the purple and pink—and letting a flash of light break the weld.

He was breathing heavily by the time he held the collar in his hands. He cocked his head. Then he slipped it back in place, using his Talent to lightly seal the weld, but when he rewove the purple and pink, he did not tie the threads of power to himself, but to the torque, so that he would still seem “gray” to any Talent-wielder who looked at him. While he doubted that he could pass a thorough scrutiny by a Talent officer, in more than a year, he'd never even been close to one. He wore a torque, but not one that could kill him while he slept. A quick smile passed across his lips.

Alucius made sure Daafl was alone before he slipped up to the small overhanging porch and the stoop of the cottage.

“Daafl…I'm back.”

“What…” The older trooper shook his head.

“You all right?”

“Nothing. Was probably dozing. That's all. You feel better?”

“The walk helped,” Alucius admitted.

“Understand. Sometimes…you just need some space to yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Daafl nodded.

Alucius eased back into the cramped confines of the cottage, slipping toward his pallet bunk through the darkness that seemed more than bright enough for him not to need a lamp.

He glanced at Oryn, snoring lightly on the adjoining bunk. He could see, more clearly than ever before, the thin line of purplish pink—evil purplish pink—that twisted from the torque at his throat around Oryn's head and then stretched up and northward. Northward to Hieron and the Matrial.

Alucius shivered.

Alucius stood at the doorway of the mess, looking out at the rain falling across the courtyard of Senob Post, the first rain in months, a late spring rain that flowed down from thick gray clouds, cleaning the dust out of the air, the dust of a long and dry winter, one that the southerners had thought cold, and one filled with skirmishes, endless patrols, and two inconclusive battles—followed by the eerie absence of Lanachronans during the past weeks.

He moved from the doorway, heading back to the library in the center of the barracks wing, glancing at Culyn, walking out of the mess, a youngster out of trooper school at Salcer less than two months, and the latest addition to seventh squad, greener even than Alucius himself had been a year earlier, probably even less experienced that some of the auxiliaries who drilled infrequently, although Alucius had never seen their maneuvers up close.

“Alucius!”

Alucius turned to see Brekka walking toward him. “Sir?”

Brekka laughed. “You're so formal. Always following the rules to the letter.”

“Yes, sir.” Alucius grinned. “Safer that way.” Especially for a herder out of the Iron Valleys. “How do you like ninth squad? And being a squad leader?”

“It's a good group. Not quite as good as seventh, not yet, anyway. Being a squad leader beats being a trooper, but it's more work. You'll find that out.” Brekka paused. “Solat was asking about you. Wanted to know why you weren't a junior squad leader.”

“No one asked me,” Alucius pointed out amiably.

“He's recommended you for the next vacancy in the company. The captain will promote you before long, now that you've a year in service.” Brekka shook his head. “Specially the way we're losing squad leaders. Almost as if the Lanachronans are targeting us.”

“They probably were, except that they've vanished.”

“Not for long. They want Southgate. They always have.” Brekka frowned. “Why do
you
think they're after squad leaders? You didn't say, except you thought they were.”

“Because the effectiveness of a squad depends on the squad leaders.” Alucius didn't point out that, effectively, the officers were primarily strategists, logisticians, and large-scale tacticians, but usually not combat leaders. That had become all too clear over the year. “The Lanachronans know that.” He shrugged.

“That makes me feel even better,” Brekka replied. “Talking to you could depress a fellow, you know?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brekka laughed. “I'll enjoy the respect from you for now. You'll be getting your own squad by summer's end, if not before.”

“I appreciate the thought, sir. If it happens, I'll do the best I can.”

“Oh, it will, and you'll have to.” Brekka turned, heading toward the courtyard, despite the heavy rain.

Alucius fingered his clean-shaven chin, then walked toward the library. The room in the center of the barracks was termed the library, for it held several hundred volumes, but only a handful of troopers ever entered it, and usually only squad leaders. Most of the books were on matters of arms and geography, but there were a few books on history. There was also an entire rack of maps, mostly on Madrien and the adjoining lands. But he had found nothing on wood-spirits, legends or otherwise. Since no one had ever mentioned them, Alucius wasn't about to ask.

Alucius had begun to draw his own maps, earlier, but now he would need to concentrate more. Before he began on the maps, though, he took down one of the histories that went all the way back to the Cataclysm, just to see if he could find anything which mentioned wood-spirits. He seated himself at a stool behind one of the two narrow tables and began to leaf through the history. The early pages mentioned pteridons and sandoxes, and there were even references to sanders near the Aerlal Plateau—but the historian dismissed them as “herders' mirages.” Alucius snorted to himself. Mirages indeed! There was no mention of any other creatures.

He frowned momentarily as he turned the page and found a folded and yellowed slip of paper tucked there, pressed into the inside of the binding where the pages joined. After easing it out, he unfolded it and read the two lines—just two lines—written there.

“Weaker than velvet or rope?” he murmured the words to himself. Why the word velvet? He refolded the paper and slipped it back into the book. He could recall the words if he wished, and there was little point in carrying the paper with him. In a way, the words reinforced what the wood-spirit had said, but she could not have known about the ancient slip of paper.

He glanced up as he heard voices in the corridor outside, even through the door.

“…better get over there before someone does…”

“…early yet…”

Alucius frowned. The two troopers had not even passed the library door. While he had always had especially keen hearing, he had the feeling that his ability to overhear others had improved even more. Because of the wood-spirit? Or the looser tie of the torque. Or because the wood-spirit's appearance had pushed him into becoming more alert.
Do not wait until it is too late…
Those words had echoed in his thoughts. Had he become too complacent, telling himself that he needed to learn more and more, rather than acting?

Part of the problem was that the library was one of the few places where he learned anything beyond skills at arms. Most troopers knew less than he did, and anyone he could meet, usually in the marketplace, was cautious in going beyond pleasantries, or the evils of adjoining lands. While he knew that he needed to act, he had no idea what act to take. With his herder's skills and his Talent, he could probably make his way back to the Iron Valleys. Probably, but that was far from certain, and would take months on horseback, and far longer on foot. And then what?

Would anyone believe him, without his demonstrating his Talent? Even if they did, that would either leave him back in the militia, being asked to do more dangerous missions, or worse. He wanted to get back to his family—and to Wendra—but not in a way that destroyed all hope for the future.

And then…there was the implication of the wood-spirit's words…that there was something else to do. She had showed him how to escape the torque. Did he owe her? What?

Still pondering that and the words of the couplet, Alucius skimmed through the next fifty pages of the history. Of course, there was no mention of anything like wood-spirits.

Undercaptain Kryll stepped into the library. Alucius immediately stood. “Sir?”

“I was told I'd find you here, trooper. Please sit down.” Kryll held several sheets of paper and an officer's grease markstick. She gestured to the table behind which Alucius stood.

Alucius eased back onto the stool.

The undercaptain pulled up another stool and sat on the far side of the table, then looked straight at Alucius. “I'd like you to write down what I say, trooper. You can do that, can't you?”

“Yes, sir.” Alucius wondered why, but questioning officers was never a good idea.

The undercaptain handed the paper and markstick to Alucius.

He checked the markstick, then eased out his belt knife, sharpened the point, and waited.

Kryll cleared her throat, then spoke slowly. “Squads two, four, and five will patrol south of the high road. They will use the sheep station on Bare Ridge as their base and quarters. One squad will remain on guard status at all times. Troopers will carry double cartridge belts…

Alucius wrote what the undercaptain dictated, hoping his Madrien spelling was adequate.

Kryll stopped talking and waited until Alucius finished. “Let's see what you wrote.”

“Yes, sir.” Alucius handed the sheet to the undercaptain.

Her eyes slipped over his words. Alucius could sense she was pleased, in a way, yet vaguely disturbed. Should he have deliberately made mistakes?

Abruptly, the undercaptain stood.

So did Alucius, stiffening into attention.

“That's all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alucius did not sit back down until the library door closed, and he was alone once more.

After considering what the undercaptain had wanted, he stood once more and walked to the shelf where he replaced the history. Then he went to the map rack.

One way or another, he needed to know more about the roads and towns of Madrien.