off two quick shots, and
the second caught the beast on the edge of the wing. It spiraled toward one of
the ewes, impaling itself on the much shorter horns of the ewe, then exploded
into a column of blue flame that enveloped both.
Alucius
had one cartridge left in his rifle when he realized that the sky was clear.
His forehead was covered in sweat, and he looked toward Wendra. “Some good
shooting there, dear.”
“Not
as good as yours, but I did help, I think.”
“More
than a little.” Alucius reached out with his Talent. The sense of purpleness
was gone, but a residual of the sorrow remained. He frowned. “We’d better check
the rest of the flock.”
Wendra
nodded.
From
what Alucius and Wendra could tell as they circled the flock, they had lost
only the one young ram and a ewe. While the death of both nightsheep would
hurt, the damage could have been much worse. Except, Alucius reflected, losing
even one nightsheep a week would destroy them just as surely as a sudden
disaster involving all the flock.
There
were no traces of any of the wild blue pteridons, none at all, except for the
black greasy splotches on the soil where each fallen Talent-creature had
burned. No charred scales or bones… nothing except the residue of intense
fires.
Alucius
could sense another problem—the lack of something. In the rough circle below
where the wild pteridons had appeared, there was no life left. Even the
quarasote bushes, although they looked green, were dead and would be brown in
weeks, if not days. And that was the area from where the feeling of sorrow
came.
“It’s
dead, isn’t it?” asked Wendra. “The land around us.”
Alucius
nodded.
“Why…
why did it happen here?” she asked. “Is it us?”
“I’d
like to say it isn’t,” he replied, “but it has to be. I can’t see why, unless
somehow my fights with the pteridons earlier made it easier for them to find
me. But why now? That was two years ago. And you? They never were near you.”
“It
has to be you,” Wendra said. “This is the second time in a month.”
“But
why now?” Alucius asked again.
They
looked at each other. Neither had an answer.
Chapter 14
Salaan, Lanachrona
The
angular man in the dark purple tunic leaned over the Recorder’s Table and
looked down into the transparent surface, finger-spans thick, yet so deep that
the ruby mist through which he peered seemed tens of yards. The Table exuded
age, as though it might have been one that remained from the score or more that
had once linked the far-flung domains of the Duarchy of Corus. Only the smooth
and shimmering finish on the dark lorken sides of the Table suggested that the
Table was of more recent creation.
“What
do you see?” demanded the round-faced trader in gray and blue.
“Somewhere,
on Corus, within the former reaches of the Duarchy, years past, a lamaial was
born. It might have been your herder overcaptain.”
“You
can’t tell that? Why not? You said he had Talent.”
“You
know that well, Halanat. All herders have Talent. That is why they can be
herders,” replied the white-faced man with the purple-tinged eyes. “That has
been known for years. The Table, being constructed with Talent, cannot depict
those with such Talent once they have begun to exercise it. You would not want
others using it on us, would you? Thus, a Table can record all steers born with
the potential for Talent—or for even greater use of Talent, as with a lamaial
or a hero—but Enyll never recorded those births except within the Table in
Tempre…”
“Hero
and lamaial—they sound like nonsense,” the trader replied. “They’re just
Talent-steers.”
“Ah,
yes… myths and nonsense, created to maintain a mystery by Recorders like me,
who are translated from Efra merely for that express purpose of being obscure.
The Vault was a myth, and so were the pteridons that destroyed the legions of
the last Praetor, and so are the Dual Scepters.”
The
mockery in the Recorder’s
the second caught the beast on the edge of the wing. It spiraled toward one of
the ewes, impaling itself on the much shorter horns of the ewe, then exploded
into a column of blue flame that enveloped both.
Alucius
had one cartridge left in his rifle when he realized that the sky was clear.
His forehead was covered in sweat, and he looked toward Wendra. “Some good
shooting there, dear.”
“Not
as good as yours, but I did help, I think.”
“More
than a little.” Alucius reached out with his Talent. The sense of purpleness
was gone, but a residual of the sorrow remained. He frowned. “We’d better check
the rest of the flock.”
Wendra
nodded.
From
what Alucius and Wendra could tell as they circled the flock, they had lost
only the one young ram and a ewe. While the death of both nightsheep would
hurt, the damage could have been much worse. Except, Alucius reflected, losing
even one nightsheep a week would destroy them just as surely as a sudden
disaster involving all the flock.
There
were no traces of any of the wild blue pteridons, none at all, except for the
black greasy splotches on the soil where each fallen Talent-creature had
burned. No charred scales or bones… nothing except the residue of intense
fires.
Alucius
could sense another problem—the lack of something. In the rough circle below
where the wild pteridons had appeared, there was no life left. Even the
quarasote bushes, although they looked green, were dead and would be brown in
weeks, if not days. And that was the area from where the feeling of sorrow
came.
“It’s
dead, isn’t it?” asked Wendra. “The land around us.”
Alucius
nodded.
“Why…
why did it happen here?” she asked. “Is it us?”
“I’d
like to say it isn’t,” he replied, “but it has to be. I can’t see why, unless
somehow my fights with the pteridons earlier made it easier for them to find
me. But why now? That was two years ago. And you? They never were near you.”
“It
has to be you,” Wendra said. “This is the second time in a month.”
“But
why now?” Alucius asked again.
They
looked at each other. Neither had an answer.
Chapter 14
Salaan, Lanachrona
The
angular man in the dark purple tunic leaned over the Recorder’s Table and
looked down into the transparent surface, finger-spans thick, yet so deep that
the ruby mist through which he peered seemed tens of yards. The Table exuded
age, as though it might have been one that remained from the score or more that
had once linked the far-flung domains of the Duarchy of Corus. Only the smooth
and shimmering finish on the dark lorken sides of the Table suggested that the
Table was of more recent creation.
“What
do you see?” demanded the round-faced trader in gray and blue.
“Somewhere,
on Corus, within the former reaches of the Duarchy, years past, a lamaial was
born. It might have been your herder overcaptain.”
“You
can’t tell that? Why not? You said he had Talent.”
“You
know that well, Halanat. All herders have Talent. That is why they can be
herders,” replied the white-faced man with the purple-tinged eyes. “That has
been known for years. The Table, being constructed with Talent, cannot depict
those with such Talent once they have begun to exercise it. You would not want
others using it on us, would you? Thus, a Table can record all steers born with
the potential for Talent—or for even greater use of Talent, as with a lamaial
or a hero—but Enyll never recorded those births except within the Table in
Tempre…”
“Hero
and lamaial—they sound like nonsense,” the trader replied. “They’re just
Talent-steers.”
“Ah,
yes… myths and nonsense, created to maintain a mystery by Recorders like me,
who are translated from Efra merely for that express purpose of being obscure.
The Vault was a myth, and so were the pteridons that destroyed the legions of
the last Praetor, and so are the Dual Scepters.”
The
mockery in the Recorder’s
Similar Books
