Legacies by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

stable, Alucius studied the sky. There were thin hazy clouds across the silver-green of the heavens, but nothing that augured rain. Still, the first thing he did was fold the oilcloth tarps and put them in the wagon bed. He was hitching the dun dray horses to the wagon when Royalt appeared with two leather cases in his arms. “Better take a brace of rifles.”
    â€œYou think we might see brigands?”
    â€œIf I did, I’d be with you two, but it’s more likely than it’s been for years. Besides, now you know enough that the rifles are safe with you.” Royalt laid the cased rifles in the wagon bed behind the seat. “The magazines are full, and there are spares in the cartridge packs. Need to talk to your mother. Bring the wagon up to the house.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Royalt strode off back toward the house.
    After Alucius hitched the team and set the rifles and their cases in the brackets mounted beside each seat, he drove the team up to the house. There Royalt was talking to Lucenda.
    â€œI’d like ten half-barrels, and five full ones—if Kyrial can have them ready in the next two weeks. If he has any, take what you can get. Order the rest. You know what to get for stocks.”
    Lucenda nodded. “We’ll do the best we can.” She turned and climbed up into the right seat and turned to her son. “You can drive, if you’d like.”
    â€œYou don’t mind?”
    â€œDrive,” his mother said with a laugh.
    Royalt laughed as well.
    Neither spoke until they were a good quint down the lane from the stead.
    â€œYour grandfather says that you’re coming along well.”
    â€œIt doesn’t feel that way,” Alucius admitted. “Every time I learn something, he shows me another way to overcome what I just learned.”
    â€œHow old are you, Alucius?”
    â€œA little past seventeen. You know that.”
    â€œHow old is your grandsire?”
    â€œTen quints or more.”
    â€œHe was with the militia almost eight years in the Border Wars. Are you going to learn everything he knows in less than two seasons?”
    Alucius looked down, then back at the road and the team. After a time, he spoke again. “Grandsire’s worried, isn’t he?” He knew that. He wanted to hear what his mother had to say.
    â€œHe is.”
    â€œBut we’ve fought before, and won.”
    â€œWhen he was young, the militia fought off the Lanachronans. They really didn’t want to take over the Iron Valleys. They just wanted the sources of the nightsilk and to get rid of the dreamdust. But if the Matrites are going to take over the Westerhills, then it won’t be long before they’ll take the Iron Valleys. Or the Lanachronans will ride north to keep out the Matrial.”
    â€œWe could fight them off,” Alucius suggested.
    Lucenda laughed. The sound was harsh. “How many cities do we have, Alucius?”
    â€œDekhron’s pretty big, and then there’s Iron Stem and Soulend…”
    â€œDekhron would fit in less than the trade quarter of Hieron or Tempre. Madden holds the entire coast up to Northport and all the Sloughs east to the Westerhills. The Matrites took over the Salceran lands more than thirty years ago. Only Southgate has held out so far—if they still have.”
    â€œYou make it sound like we’re a nightram caught between sanders and sandwolves, between the Matrites and the Lanachronans.”
    â€œThat’s a fair description of the situation,” his mother replied dryly.
    Alucius was silent for a time, as he considered her words.
    â€œYou make it sound hopeless,” he finally said.
    â€œWe don’t have enough militia to invade and defeat them. Thank the soarers, we don’t have to. We only have to make it so difficult for either the Matrites or the southerners that it’s easier to leave us alone. That’s what happened with the Border