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Usually, his grandsire and the other herders drove their wagons to the small
counting house in Iron Stem operated by the Council in the spring and summer.
He shook his head. Of course. The counting house was not manned in the late
fall and winter, and there were no militia to provide security.
'You're worried about the year ahead, aren't you?" Alucius kept his voice low
so that it wouldn't carry out to the main room where Veryl was dozing before
the
iron stove or to the front parlor where Lucenda was sitting, checking over the
ledgers. She had a rifle with her as'well.
'Yes." Royalt walked slowly back past the table. "The Lord-Protector of
Lanachrona is ailing and expected to die. His eldest has made no secret of his
scorn for his sire's caution. The Matrial is taking over the Westerhills and
pushing the Reillies either into the Iron Valleys or northward. None of the
Reillie raids make sense otherwise, but the Council isn't saying."
'Why wouldn't they?"
'They don't want to give the Lanachronans the idea that we might be
vulnerable, especially with the possibility of a new Lord-Protector. In the
past, the southerners haven't really wanted the northern part of the Iron
Valleys. They just wanted Dekhron and the area around it and control of both
banks of the
Vedra. If old Lord-Protector dies and they know for certain that we are
fighting the Matrite troops, the new Lord-Protector might decide to move on
his own.
That's why the Council is trying to build up the militia quickly and
quietly and hoping that the ailing Lord-Protector will last for a season or so
yet." Royalt paced to the window for the third time in less than a glass, but
this time he paused, then turned with a smile. "That'll be Kustyl and Tylal
with their nightsilk."
Alucius followed Royalt out onto the porch, where a cold wind blew out of the
northeast, carrying the acrid scent of the plateau. The two watched the wagon
draw to a halt.
Alucius couldn't say that he was surprised to see Tylal wearing the uniform of
a captain in the militia. Most herders served at one point or another, but the
uniform fit Tylal well.
'Almost look like you've been called up," Royalt said.
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'Almost as bad as if I had been," countered Tylal. He glanced at Alucius.
"Two of us, it just might work."
'Oh, they wouldn't be able to take the nightsilk from four of us. Not from
four herders," Kustyl said. "This way, though, they'll get the idea that there
are militia in places they hadn't thought. Might help." He lowered the
tailgate of the wagon.
'We can use anything that would," Royalt suggested. "Can't count on the
Council to do the right thing, not for herders, anyway."
Tylal and Kustyl carried a plain wooden chest up onto the porch and set it
beside the one that Alucius and Royalt had placed there earlier.
'You know what you're to do?" Royalt asked Alucius.
'You want me to stand guard over the nightsilk on the porch. But I'm really
supposed to watch the traders and their guards. If they go for their
weapons,J'm to kill as many as I can." Alucius paused. "Do you think they
will?"
'No. You have to look as though you're ready to act, though."
'I understand, sir."
Royalt nodded, then turned to Kustyl. "You want to put the team in the shed?"
'Be warmer, and a mite safer."
Tylal and Alucius stood on the porch as the two older men took the wagon and
team out to the one shed that had not been locked.
'You look just like a fresh-minted cavalry type," Tylal said with a chuckle.
"Of course, that being the case, it's not surprising."
'Could they really call you up, sir?" asked Alucius.
'They could until I'm forty-five, but they'd have to release Jaff or Kyrtus,
and
I don't imagine they'd do that. They'd rather have younger men." Tylal paused.
"Unless your grandsire is right, and things get much worse."
When the older men returned, all four slipped into the kitchen where they
waited. Kustyl, Tylal, and Alucius sat around the table, while Royalt
continued to pace, checking the window.
'Better doing this with both steads here, anyway," Kustyl offered. "Not sure I
like partial shearing late in the year."
'We may not have any buyers in the spring or early summer," Royalt pointed
out. "If we do, they won't pay as much."
'You could be right." To Alucius's Talent-senses, Kustyl didn't feel
convinced.
'They're on the lane," Lucenda called from the loft, although Alucius had not
seen his mother climb up there.
Alucius picked up the rifle and slipped out the back door to the north end of
the porch where he took station as if he were guarding a post back at Sudon.
A single wagon rolled down the lane toward the stead. Four guards rode before
the wagon, and two behind. With all the preparations required by his
grandsire, Alucius had somehow expected a larger contingent of traders.
The wagon was narrower than many, and highsided and enclosed, if not any
taller than the head of a horseman riding beside, without shutters or windows,
and with larger wheels than the stead wagon. The sides were painted a glossy
maroon. The guards all wore maroon leather riding jackets, and bore blades in
shoulder harnesses that were longer than sabres but shorter than the hand-and-
a-half battle blades used by the Reillies. They also had rifles in saddle
scabbards.
Alucius thought they looked more like cavalry than private guards.
The trader handling the wagon eased it up alongside the porch steps, where
Royalt, Kustyl, and Tylal stood. Tylal stood back, more to the south end of
the porch, so that he and Alucius had a clear field of fire at the traders and
the wagon.
Royalt stepped forward. "Greetings, Salburan."
'Greetings, herder Royalt." The clean-shaven, dark-skinned trader glanced from
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Tylal to Alucius and back to Royalt before speaking. "Even upon a stead, your
militia is present."
Alucius had to strain to understand the trader's words, delivered as they were
in what seemed a thick accent, but both Lanachronans and people in the Iron
Valleys spoke the same tongue, if with differing accents.
'Would you expect any less?" Royalt countered cheerfully.
'Ah& yes. Always the governments, they want their share."
'Is that not true in Borlan and Tempre as well?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]