Legacies (58 page)

The provisions arrived, left in haste by some very worried militia troopers, and Alucius and his company settled in to wait—with precautions. He had Egyl and Longyl sending scouts everywhere, and he spent much of his own time using his Talent to scan the lands to the east.

He also insisted on spending three glasses every morning, and two in late afternoon, on various training exercises. The first four glasses were spent with the green troopers, and last on unified company maneuvers. After six days, Alucius could see definite improvements.

At midday on the Tridi after they had met with the Eleventh Company captain, Longyl and Egyl interrupted his mounted sabre training efforts with the first two squads, riding up.

“Sir!”

“Halt! Take a break!” Alucius ordered, urging Wildebeast toward the two squad leaders.

“There's someone on the high road,” Egyl said. “Not a full company, but two squads, we'd judge, and they've got a banner, black with a gold starburst.”

“That's the commandant's banner, I'd wager,” added Longyl.

“We'd better have the company form up,” Alucius said.

“How are you going to do this?” asked Longyl, concern in his voice.

“I'm going to have to go down and meet them. Same place as before. You'll be in charge, and you'll have all the squads ready on the hillside.”

Again, Alucius used the white banner as a signal, but this time, if nervously, he rode halfway down the slope and waited, totally exposed.

A small contingent rode toward the stream, two senior officers in blacks, then the Eleventh Company captain, and one squad of militia. The captain and the squad halted thirty yards back from the stream.

The two senior officers rode forward, stopping short of the stream by about five yards. The silver-haired Colonel Clyon wore the formal black uniform of the militia, despite the hot sun of late summer. So did Majer Dysar, who appeared little different from the time more than two years before when Alucius had last seen him. The squad behind them looked and felt, to Alucius, very nervous and jumpy.

Alucius rode down to the western edge of the water. He wondered why both Dysar and Clyon were there—unless Clyon wanted Dysar to verify who Alucius was and didn't trust Dysar to handle the negotiations.

Dysar rode forward, almost to the stream edge, studying Alucius. “You look like the man you say you are.”

“I'm Alucius, majer. Your wife and my mother have been friends for many years. Years ago, she and your daughter visited the stead.”

“Captain Koryt”—Dysar gestured toward the captain who commanded the squad behind him—“said that you had insisted on some ridiculous settlement.”

“No, sir. I made no demands, other than our wish to return home and to be treated fairly. I don't believe either is unreasonable for troopers who were captured in war, enslaved, and who have managed to escape.”

“Just how did you manage this miraculous escape? None have ever done that before.”

“The Matrial died, and when she did, the silver torques that could kill a man instantly no longer worked. We provided several of those as both payment and proof.”

“You're a traitor!” snapped Dysar. “Anyone who wears the green is a traitor.”

“We were supposed to die, rather than escape?” asked Alucius calmly.

“You took the enemy's colors.”

Alucius looked at the man, trying to project calm, and realizing that persuasion wasn't about to work. So he had to play to the silent Clyon for a bit. “We've fought our way back across half of Madrien. We've brought you weapons, silver in the form of torques, and even two wagons. That doesn't count the information we can provide. For this, you're calling us traitors?”

“Anyone who was captured—who didn't die in the cause—” Dysar's voice rose in pitch and in apparent rage.

Yet Alucius could not feel that much anger, but a certain fear. Fear? Because Alucius might reveal his lack of tactical ability? Or because he disliked herders?

“Isn't it better that we survived and returned, majer?” Alucius's cold words cut through the tirade.

“You surrendered—”

“I
never
surrendered,” Alucius replied, struggling to maintain a calm appearance. “I was wounded at Soulend and knocked unconscious. That was true of most prisoners who had collars put on them.” Alucius could sense both a calculation and a certain amusement from the colonel, but the commandant still hadn't spoken.

“You owe—”

Alucius could sense, finally, that Dysar was unwilling to negotiate in any way. It was a gamble, but…he reached out with his Talent, hating to do it.

Dysar grasped at his chest. “What—” Then the majer slumped forward on his mount.

Alucius offered a surprised and gaping look, if but briefly.

“Hold!” snapped Clyon. “Attend the majer, Captain Koryt!”

Beyond the commands, underneath, Clyon did not seem surprised, and did not move in the slightest. Captain Koryt rode forward and caught the limp form before Dysar's body slipped from the saddle. “He's dead.” He glared at Alucius. “What did you do?”

“I didn't touch him,” Alucius said. “You saw that. I'm on one side of this stream. He's over there. How could I do
anything
.” Alucius was gambling that what his grandsire had told him was correct, that herders never revealed their Talents except to other herders. If the gamble didn't pay off, then he could move the company northward through the Westerhills and see if he could get some of the herders to intervene. He hoped it wouldn't go that way, but he was ready…if he had to.

“You did
something
,” Koryt insisted.

Alucius shook his head. “Me? I'm a simple herder, and I was a horse trooper. You know that, captain. I was captured by the Matrites at Soulend, when I was left for dead. Was I supposed to slit my throat when I recovered and found myself a captive? They'd even taken my belt knife.”

Koryt was silent.

Alucius turned his glance to the still-silent colonel. “From what I've heard, colonel, it would appear that no one wants us in service. Should we turn over our equipment and wagons to you, sir, and then head home to our families? They, at least, would be glad to see us.” As he studied Clyon, Alucius had the distinct feeling that he had
pleased
the colonel. That bothered him, and, in a way, it did not.

Colonel Clyon lifted his felt hat, and pushed back wavy silver hair. After readjusting the hat, he looked at Koryt. “Captain Koryt, I think that Captain Alucius and I can work out something. Take your men and Majer Dysar's body back to the encampment. I'd warned the majer about accompanying me, but he insisted.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Go!” Clyon looked to Alucius. “I'm not about to yell out an agreement. Would you please ride over here?”

“Yes, sir. I'd be happy to.”

“I thought you would. You look a lot like your grandsire, and he was always a reasonable man.” Clyon waited.

Alucius guided Wildebeast through the shallows of the stream and reined up about two yards from the colonel.

“Your grandsire was most accomplished as a herder. Some even said he was a Talent-wielder,” Clyon said evenly. “He always said he was just a herder. It looks like you take after him, young Alucius.”

“I might, sir. I'm just a herder.”

“So was he, and more than a few things occurred around him.” Clyon smiled, almost sympathetically, as if dismissing the clear implication of his words. “I checked your records. Even if we count all the time…the Council raised the term of service to four years.”

Alucius could sense that the colonel had something in mind, that the older man was scheming, but unlike Dysar, there was neither anger nor pettiness. “I hadn't heard of that. Then, I'd guess I wouldn't have.”

“You've brought back a company or so…”

“Not quite, and some were Reillies, colonel.”

“Most won't have any family or steads to go back to, not after what the Matrial's troops did.” Clyon paused. “Did any of your men have anything to do with that?”

“Not that I know, sir. Most of the ones with me were in Hieron. I was in the south fighting the Southern Guard.”

“So you know something about them as well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better and better.” Clyon paused. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“By the time this is all sorted out, I imagine you'll have about a company, perhaps an undersized company, but a company. You owe time. I need another company. The militia needs more than that, but this I can work out, and we can add to your company over time. You and I both know that the Council would rather have you and your men in service and grateful than loose in the Iron Valleys.”

Alucius waited.

“With your knowledge, and your actions, you've served the militia, even done me and the Iron Valleys a favor. Poor Dysar, I told him his heart would give out if he didn't calm down.” Clyon smiled knowingly, and Alucius could tell that Clyon had a very good idea what had happened. “That sort of thing happens, at times, when people get herders upset. Dysar and the merchants of Dekhron never quite understood that.”

Perhaps they didn't, but Alucius understood all too well what Clyon was saying, and the implicit bargain that was being struck. Alucius had done Clyon a favor, if desperately and inadvertently. At least, it was a private bargain that would keep Alucius's Talent mostly hidden because Clyon would lose almost as much as Alucius to reveal what he knew—or suspected.

“We'll promote you to captain, allow you to keep or choose your own squad leaders.”

Alucius nodded. “You'll have to give furlough, and some back pay.”

“A quarter pay for all time served in Madrien for those who were in the militia and have families and no militia obligation remaining. The rest stay in service for at least a year or for the length of their remaining militia obligation, but they also receive back pay. Two month's pay to those Reillies without militia service as a reward for their service to you, and half pay for time-served for all those who still owe time. You get half pay for that time—as a captain.”

“Furlough?”

“How about a month?” Clyon smiled. “And you can promise another month sometime after six months.”

Alucius considered. Clyon had come with his terms ready. He hadn't even had to think about things. He'd already decided…

Alucius had never wanted to be an officer. He was probably still too young. He'd only wanted to come home and be a herder. But he also owed his life to the men who'd followed him, and the Council could make life more than a little difficult on his grandsire and his mother. If…if Wendra…he hoped that she would consider being married to him before he got out of the militia.

Alucius looked at Clyon, then smiled slowly. “I think I have a great deal still to learn, colonel…”

“And…captain…when we received word, I did take the liberty of sending a fast messenger to your family and your intended. Your grandsire sent a very persuasive message to me, and they would very much like to see you, the young woman especially.”

Persuasive message. Alucius almost grinned. For once, he was more than happy to accept any aid his grandsire might have offered. Then he took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. If the men agree—or most of them do—I'll do it.”

“I know men, captain. They'll do it. They wouldn't have followed you back here if they didn't believe in you, and they didn't want to live here. And we will honor those who have finished their commitment.” Clyon smiled ruefully. “We have to. If we didn't…well…word would get out, and that wouldn't be good for the Council. I can assure them that it wouldn't be good. They need the herders now, as never before.” He reached into his pocket. “Here are your captain's bars. You and your company have one last task before you go on furlough.” He extended the silver insignia to Alucius.

“Sir?”

“After you pick up some proper militia tunics, you're going to escort me back to Sudon. There, you'll all be fitted—those who are staying—for uniforms and paid.” He smiled. “And you'll debrief me and some senior captains on what is happening in Madrien.”

“We can manage that, sir.”

“I thought you could.” Clyon nodded. “Your grandsire was one of the best ever. He and I expect the same of you.”

Expectations—for now, he could deal with those, especially since it was very clear to Alucius, through his Talent, that the militia commandant intended to keep his word.

By midmorning on Londi, nearly a week later, Alucius was mounted on Wildebeast and riding eastward from Sudon to the high road that would take him north to Iron Stem and then home. It had only been late on Decdi, almost seven days after working out the agreement with Colonel Clyon, that Alucius had finally finished filling out all the forms, briefing the colonel and Majer Weslyn—the replacement for Majer Dysar—and writing all the reports that he had promised to the colonel. Because it was the end day of the week, he had to wait until Londi morning for the clerks and functionaries to come to work so that he could draw his back pay—and so that his troopers could do so as well, before they could all leave on furlough.

The Council hadn't even balked at creating the new company—Twenty-first Company. Not much, according to Colonel Clyon, and not when the colonel had pointed out that the weakening of Madrien meant that the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona could turn more troopers to the north against the Iron Valleys, especially if the southerners' ongoing campaign to seize Southgate proved to be as successful as the early reports of recent events in Zalt suggested. Clyon had also suggested to the Council that unfair treatment of those who had been enslaved by the Matrial and had the courage to escape would create far too much unrest among the smaller merchants and crafters at a time when the Council would need support—and might need to raise tariffs. Beyond that, it certainly wouldn't have gone well with the militia, because almost everyone in service knew someone who'd been captured.

Clyon had told Alucius that Zalt had already fallen and that the seltyrs of Southgate were trying to work out a surrender that would leave their trading houses intact. Alucius hadn't been that surprised, but he'd only nodded. His thoughts were on the month ahead, and getting back to Wendra and to his mother and grandsire. He had few illusions that he would see his grandmother.

Still, as he rode through the warm late summer morning, a morning he once would have called hot, but not after nearly two years in Madrien, he was looking forward to seeing his family and Wendra. Wearing the uniform of a militia captain was strange indeed, and even stranger was the weight of coins in his wallet, between the Matrite silvers, and the golds and silvers of militia back pay. Yet…all those coins were less than the yield of a year's worth of nightsilk from the stead, far less.

There had been a letter waiting for Alucius at Sudon—a brief note from his mother, expressing gladness at his return, the restrained gladness that revealed more than it hid, and the forceful suggestion that, since Wendra was at the stead, he head directly home when he was free to do so.

He rode alone, since he had seen his troopers off first. That was but one indication of how so much had changed in two years. His eyes took in the fields of grain on each side of the road, the stalks still green, except in places where touches of gold had begun to appear. To the northeast loomed the Aerlal Plateau, lower against the horizon than it would be at the stead, but still imposing. And stark, compared to the wooded slopes of the Coast Range in Madrien or even the Westerhills. Yet he was a herder, and the plateau was part of home.

He watered Wildebeast at the public pump a vingt south of the center of Iron Stem, knowing full well that if he stopped for water at the square, he'd be delayed. Even after two years away, some would recognize him.

After watering his mount and stretching his legs, he remounted and headed north. His eyes took in the small houses—huts with crooked walls, roofs with irregular slate tiles cobbled together from older structures long since dismantled or destroyed…mean dwellings compared to most of those in Madrien. He could not help frowning as he made the comparison.

Before long, he was riding Wildebeast toward the south side of the square in Iron Stem. In the early afternoon sun, more than ten carts filled with produce and other goods were set out in two lines on the sun-warmed stones. The square was far busier in late summer than it had been in the winter of the last times he had ridden through the town—far busier, but the carts were carelessly painted, and the peddlers in clothes not much better than rags, and the produce smaller than he recalled, and often blemished.

One of the cart merchants glanced up, took in the uniform and the captain's insignia, and nodded. Alucius returned the nod and turned Wildebeast slightly to the right, in order to avoid an oncoming wagon. Alucius did not recognize either the man driving the wagon or the young woman beside him, except to note that both looked thin, and the horse pulling the wagon was close to being bony.

As he passed the front of Kyrial's cooperage, he could hear loud whispers, and the sound of feet on the small front porch. He could sense the curiosity…and something more. Someone had to have passed the word about him.

“…the dark gray hair…has to be him…”

“…Alucius…heading home…”

“…first man to escape the Matrites…”

Alucius did not look to his left, but kept his eyes on the street that was also the high road northward. Even so, it seemed to him that the buildings around the square slanted slightly, in different directions. He did listen—carefully.

“…takes after his grandsire, then…”

“…say he brought back a whole company…made him a captain for that…”

“…still a herder born…never know what they'll do…don't talk much…”

“…Wendra…said he'd return…”

Alucius smiled. Wendra had faith. He hoped she liked the scarf—the only personal item he had brought.

The whispers behind him, he continued riding northward, past more small dwellings and shops, some with peeling shutters, others with crooked or no shutters, and all surrounded by mostly bare ground, saving an occasional apple tree or patches of weeds. There were no neat courtyards or well-tended enclosed gardens. There were no stone walkways or sidewalks.

In time, he reached the Pleasure Palace, small and sad-seeming, with its patchwork walls of indestructible blue-and-green and blue-and-yellow stones. Beyond it, to the north, was the spire of the tower, rising into the silver-green sky, its outline and its brilliant green stones as crisp as they must have been even before the Cataclysm, its interior as gutted and empty as always.

Alucius glanced toward the Pleasure Palace, where two horses were tied out front. For some reason, he recalled the girl who had gone to school with Wendra, whose mother had been one of the women there—and who probably still was. He'd never seen anything like the Pleasure Palace in Madrien either, but he'd seen an innocent man killed unjustly. Here, he reflected, innocent women were used unjustly. And from what he'd heard, that was true still in most of Corus.

He glanced to the tower, proud against the sky—proud and empty. Then he looked to the road ahead, stretching northward.

Before much longer, the enclosures of the dustcat works appeared on his right, long low buildings of weathered wood that looked as though they would collapse under a high wind, although they had not, not in years of winter winds out of the north and off the plateau. The dustcat works—another structure whose like he had not seen elsewhere, raising yet another question.

How could anything justify the torques—and the purple evilness behind them? Yet…when he saw the houses in Iron Stem, the Pleasure Palace, the dustcat works…saw them all for what they were for the first time…he could understand the impulses that had created the torques.

Even in the warm afternoon sun, he shivered, if slightly, before shifting his weight in the saddle. There was Wendra—and his family—they had to be as he had remembered them. Didn't they?

He could feel a rider approaching. He studied the eternastone pavement that seemed to stretch endlessly to the north, making out a dark figure moving swiftly southward toward him. The single militia rider—a messenger from the green sash slung over his black tunic—rode closer and closer. The trooper glanced toward him, apparently taking in the uniform and insignia, then slowed his mount.

“Good day, trooper,” Alucius called.

“Sir…” The rider's eyes opened. “Sir? Weren't you with Third Company?”

“I was. That was several years ago. I've just been promoted to captain of Twenty-first Company.”

“Congratulations, sir.” The messenger paused. “Beggin' yer pardon, sir…weren't you wounded pretty bad at Soulend?”

“I was left for dead,” Alucius replied. “I wasn't.” He didn't recognize the man, but there were certainly those in Third Company he had not met.

“Thought it must have been something like that, sir.” The messenger nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He nodded yet again and urged his mount southward.

Alucius could sense the combination of fear and awe. What had so troubled the trooper? Troopers were wounded. Some died, and some survived. Alucius had been lucky, as some troopers were, yet the messenger had clearly recognized him and been more than a little surprised to see him. And frightened.

Was it just because his head wounds had looked so bad? That had to have been it. Even though he nodded to himself, he wondered.

It was nearing late afternoon when he turned off the north-south road to take the lane to the stead. After the messenger, he had seen no one on the road, no one at all, but that was as it always was. The quarasote lands were empty.

The stead lane was rutted, not any worse than he remembered it, and dusty, but not so dusty as the mountain logging roads near Zalt. Still, he must have raised enough dust, because as he neared the stead, he could make out the figures of Wendra and his mother, both standing at the foot of the steps before the stead house, and that of his grandsire on the porch, leaning on the railing.

He couldn't help but smile as he rode up to them.

All three of them were smiling as well, but his mother's face was lined and weathered, more so than he had recalled. Wendra's face was finer, more refined, and, without a word, in a long single glance, he could sense that she had been on the stead almost the entire time he had been gone. Her brown hair was shorter, but more lustrous, and the greenish gold eyes were deeper, more intent—and deep flashes of green—herder green—ran through her life thread and being. She was no longer a girl, but a woman, and one who had been waiting for him, believing in him.

“I'm back. It took longer.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Alucius dismounted. He had to drop the reins as Wendra's arms went around him.

“You came back. No one does, but you did.” Her words were smothered, and her face was damp.

Alucius didn't care as he held her, and as their lips met. The shock of their meeting was as intense as if both life webs had melded.

When they finally parted, Alucius turned and stepped toward his mother, giving her a long and gentle hug. “I didn't mean to worry you, but I did promise I'd come back.”

“You did,” she murmured. A smile appeared. “You'd best have time to get married.”

“A month, and we will, if Wendra”—he looked to the golden-eyed woman—“will still have me.”

“I will.” She smiled softly. “How could it be otherwise?”

Royalt stood at the top of the steps and called out. “Well…I see they recognized some value in you.” His grandsire was still tall and straight, but far more gaunt than Alucius had recalled. “A captain yet. They didn't let you out?”

“No. Colonel Clyon gave me full credit for time served, but that still leaves almost two years.”

“They let young Vardial out earlier.” Royalt shook his head. “We can talk about that later. It's just good that you're home.”

“I'm glad to be here. Let me get Wildebeast stabled…”

“I'll do it—” began Lucenda.

“I can do it,” Alucius replied. “You can tell me everything I've missed.”

“There's not that much…little changes on the stead…”

Alucius led Wildebeast away from the steps and back down to the stable, and inside, taking the third stall on the right, one clearly cleaned recently, and readied for him. He glanced from the clean stall to Wendra.

She flushed. “I wanted everything to be ready for you…once we heard.”

“Grandma'am…” Alucius said slowly.

“She…held on…until about a month ago…None of us expected she would live that long,” Lucenda said slowly. “Your grandfather couldn't explain it.”

“That…” Alucius had trouble speaking for a moment. “That was when I started back from Zalt…but I didn't know…”

“She did,” Lucenda said quietly.

Alucius swallowed.

“How did…don't the Matrites have silver collars?” Wendra ventured.

“They did.” Alucius loosened the girth. “I'll tell you all about it when we go inside. Grandfather will want to hear it.”

“He will,” affirmed Lucenda.

“Lamb will be glad to see you,” Wendra said after a silence.

“How is he?”

“He's getting old. He doesn't lead the flock anymore,” Lucenda said. “We let him graze the nearer quarasote during the day.”

Alucius understood the underlying message there as well. He racked the saddle and the saddle blanket, and then began to brush Wildebeast.

“He's gentle for a stallion,” Lucenda offered.

“Only around me, or so they say.”

Grooming Wildebeast and making sure of the stallion's feed and water seemed to take a glass, but it was less than half that when the three walked toward the house. Alucius carried the saddlebags with the new uniforms inside—and the screen scarf that he had carried a thousand vingts.

“It is good to be here.” Alucius motioned for his mother to go up the steps to the porch first. “It's different. Nothing's changed, and yet everything has.”

From the porch where he had waited, Royalt laughed, a sound of amusement and rue. “Could have told you that. Every trooper who comes home after a long time away feels the same way. It changes you.”