Scion of Cyador (39 page)

Lorn gestures toward the door with the sabre. “We’re going to look at what’s in the wagons we brought.”

Ikynd stands. “You’d kill me, without blinking an eye, wouldn’t you?”

“If necessary.”

“The sabre’s in your left hand. All lancers…” Ikynd shakes his head. “You can use the sabre with either hand, can’t you?”

“Yes. Dettaur never saw that.”

“There was much he didn’t see.” Ikynd shakes his head, and the genial tone returns to his voice. “I will indeed recommend you return to Cyad. You won’t even have to force me.”

“You might even mean it, after you see how many cupridium sabres the traders from Summerdock sold to the Jeranyi.”

“The Captain-Commander is going to have trouble with someone like you who really cares for Cyad.”

“Let’s go look at the wagons, and then we’ll have the lancers unload the records and invoices into Dettaur’s study. You’ll have to explain that poor Dett didn’t want to have this revealed.”

“He didn’t, I imagine, because if it came out you discovered it, he’d never be promoted back to Cyad. He was always a city lancer.” Ikynd laughs. “You’re a true lancer, and you’ll never be happy in Cyad. You just don’t know it.”

“You could be right.” Lorn smiles and steps back as Ikynd moves toward the door.

LXXV

In the late afternoon, Lorn sits in Dettaur’s study, although it is temporarily, if not technically, his for the moment. A light and pleasant spring breeze sifts through the window that is but partly ajar and brings a faint odor of a flower he does not recognize.

His lips quirk, and he looks down at the copy of the report on his campaign and of the scroll he has sent to Cyad-and across Cyador. Then he looks up, blankly, at the ancient golden wooden panels of the wall.

Outside, in the foyer, are a pair of lancers from Gyraet’s Sixth Company, detailed by the captain to protect Lorn. With them in the foyer are the senior squad leaders who continue the administrative work for the compound and the outposts it serves. The sub-majer shakes his head. The waiting is the hardest part, as if he were sitting on a chaos-tower that could flare at any moment. Yet he has done all that he can do.

He stands and walks to the window, checking the lancers who patrol the compound, wondering how long he can command them and whether they will see scores upon scores of lancers arriving, or whether he will simply receive a scroll dispatching him to Cyad-or back to Biehl… or some other out-of-the-way place.

He walks back to the desk and lifts the small bag he carries with him everywhere-along with the Brystan sabre. In the bag are the chaos-glass that had once been his father’s, and the silver-covered book, and the originals of the most incriminating of the trading papers taken from Jera.

Lorn slips out the chaos-glass and sets it on the desk. He concentrates. The silver mists part, and reveal Ikynd standing by the window in his personal quarters looking out over the courtyard. The commander shakes his head and turns from the window. Lorn releases the image.

Although he has kept a close watch on the commander, he still worries about the man, particularly since he knows Ikynd is true to only the principle of self-interest. At the moment, Lorn serves his self-interest, but anything could change that, nearly instantly.

After a moment, Lorn slips the glass back into its wooden case, and the case back into the bag. Finally, he begins to write, although he has no idea whether this scroll will reach its destination.

My dearest,

There have been some difficulties with couriers and messages, and I have not received any of your scrolls, if there have been such, since the turn of winter. Nor have I received any others. So I know little of what may have happened to you or in Cyad.

I trust that you and Kerial are well, and that your efforts with Ryalor House have been rewarded. We have been through an arduous campaign, and rode all the way to Jera, where we discovered that many of the blades that have been slaying lancers have come from not just Hamorian traders, but even from cupritors and traders in Summerdock. This was a shock, and when we returned to Inividra, I faced a greater shock, since there were some indications I might be relieved of command because of my efforts in the field.

I came to Assyadt where Dettaur attempted to kill me. For reasons that are unclear, he did not want my report on the blades to go to the Majer-Commander. Much remains unclear, but Commander Ikynd and I have sent a report to the Majer-Commander, and to others, detailing my campaign and the blade-trading in Jera. The campaign was successful enough that for the season so far, there have been no raids from the northwest Grass Hills by barbarians. We also know of none in the areas of outposts controlled from Syadtar, but we would not receive such reports until much later.

At the moment, I am acting as the deputy to Commander Ikynd in Assyadt, waiting to find out what my next assignment may be.

You and Kerial are well, I trust, and I can but hope it will not be that long before I can see you both under pleasant circumstances.

Lorn sets the scroll aside to dry. He reaches for another sheet of parchment for the one he will write to his parents. Then he pauses and looks out the narrow window and watches one of his lancers-mounted and riding a post. He can but hope that at least some of his dispatches have found their way beyond Captain-Commander Luss and that Majer-Commander Rynst will act as Lorn has predicted.

With a deep breath, he smoothes the parchment and begins to write.

Later, after he reviews the status reports from Pemedra and drafts a response for the commander’s seal, he will inspect the lancers and meet, once more, with his captains… and wait.

LXXVI

An eightday has passed since Lorn has sent out his dispatches. The headquarters compound at Assyadt has heard nothing, except standard dispatches about such matters as procurement of mounts, sent before Lorn’s report could have been received, and another caution about the declining number of firelances and recharges available-somewhat concerned-sounding reports from the outpost at Pemedra that there have been no barbarian attacks and no barbarians sighted.

Lorn has been acting as Ikynd’s deputy, drafting dispatch scrolls for provisions, inspecting the compound, drafting the request for replacement officers for Inividra, spending some time directing the arms drills he had scheduled for his lancers, and even, hard as it had been, drafting a letter to Dettaur’s family informing them of his death in the line of duty. Yet, still he has time to worry about what may come, and his eyes go from the study door to the window and back again.

Thrap!

Lorn looks up as Commander Ikynd steps into his temporary study, then stands. “Yes, ser?”

“You are so formal.” Ikynd laughs, before his voice returns to its genial tone. “You’re the one in command.”

“No, ser. You’re in command. I’m just not letting you do anything that will hurt the lancers in the outpost or the field until we hear from the Majer-Commander.”

Ikynd shakes his head. “First, my command is run by a scheming city lancer who is favored by the Captain-Commander, and now by a Cyad-raised, magus-born, patrol commander who’s the opposite. You’d think you’d been raised in Assyadt and not Cyad.”

Lorn shrugs, waiting for the commander to continue.

“What will you do if the Majer-Commander sends ten companies?” asks Ikynd, still standing by the open door.

“Walk out and surrender,” Lorn admits.

“You wouldn’t try to go out in a blaze of glory or some such?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to the men. I’ve tried to take the risks myself. They’ve done their tasks. I just didn’t want to get killed and have them die because someone like Dettaur was determined to put me in a position where I had to die or they did.” Lorn frowns and adds, “When it was totally unnecessary.”

The commander laughs. “If no one had bothered you, I’d wager you’d have died somewhere doing your duty.”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” Lorn admits, “but I couldn’t let lancers die when they didn’t have to. And I couldn’t let Dettaur keep doing what he was doing. If it hadn’t been me, sooner or later, it would have been someone else.”

Ikynd turns back toward the door. “One way or another, it won’t be long. The Captain-Commander doesn’t look from hand to hand.” He pauses. “Now that you’ve made me hero,” offers Ikynd, “how long will you dare to leave Inividra and the poor peasants without protection?”

Lorn fingers his chin. “Not long. I have been considering it. I think you should detail a company to stay here, and the rest should return to duty at Inividra, with an experienced captain promoted to overcaptain until the Captain-Commander decides.”

“Besides Sub-Majer Uflet?”

“I doubt that the Sub-Majer will return to Inividra. We’ve heard nothing from Nesmyl.”

“He’s the second senior officer to disappear around you.”

Lorn offers a faint smile. “Just a coincidence, I’m sure. I’ll draft an order for you to promote a captain to overcaptain.”

“I can’t do that.”

“The Code says commanders can make temporary promotions and recommend them to the Captain-Commander. There’s no overcaptain at Inividra anyway.”

Ikynd shrugs. “I had forgotten that. Who do you have in mind?”

“I would have recommended Emsahl, but Gyraet would be a good choice. Or Cheryk.”

“I’d prefer Gyraet, if it’s all the same to you,” suggests Ikynd.

“I’ll talk to them about leaving, and let them know.”

“It would be easier, one way or another, if most were gone before this is resolved,” Ikynd points out.

“You are right about that,” Lorn says.

“I am sometimes,” suggests Ikynd. “Commanders do learn something over the years.”

“You were wrong only in allowing Dettaur his head.” Lorn smiles.

“Was I?” Ikynd lifts his eyebrows. “If you are correct, I will be a hero, and he’ll be disgraced and forgotten, despite your kind words in that letter.”

Lorn bows.

Ikynd returns the bow. “I won’t keep you from meeting with the officers.” He pauses. “I’d like to be able to report that most left after the matter was brought to my attention. It would be better for you as well, either way.”

“I’ll talk to them now.”

Ikynd slips back to his study, and Lorn walks into the corridor and then out through the foyer. He stops just outside the building to let his eyes adjust to the bright sun. As he looks up, a after a few moments, he sees Rhalyt riding toward him.

“Good day, ser,” offers the undercaptain, reining up his mount before Lorn, who recalls that First Company is the duty Company for the afternoon.

“No word yet,” Lorn says easily with a grin, “as I’m sure you know, but we’ll be sending five companies back to Inividra shortly.”

The undercaptain nods. “I thought that might happen.”

“I’m going to talk to the others.”

“Yes, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.

“I think you should be among those to return. You’re only an undercaptain, and could have a fine career. The Majer-Commander is short of experienced lancers and officers, and he’s not about to waste talent and experience.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.

“Thank you,” Lorn says with a smile, before turning and walking across the sun-splashed main courtyard toward the north barracks and the shadowed courtyard where he has ordered his captains to drill the men in sabres.

As he steps past the corner of the barracks, the order rings out, “Stand down!”

The three captains walk quickly toward Lorn, who waits until they have gathered around him. “There’s nothing new. Not right now. I’ve been thinking things over. We’ve done what we can do here,” Lorn says slowly. “The Majer-Commander and the Emperor know what they need to know. I’ll need one company to remain here for a while, but it’s time for the other five to return to Inividra… before the barbarians resume their raids. For the company to stay here, Commander Ikynd will sign the orders… but I’d prefer a volunteer.”

Esfayl grins. “Well… my sister does live in the hamlet next from Assyadt.” He looks at Cheryk and then at Gyraet.

“You can have it.” Cheryk looks at Lorn. “What of you, ser?”

“We’ve either gotten the Majer-Commander to see the problem with the traders, or we haven’t. I’ll be staying here to see what happens. The commander will appoint a temporary overcaptain for Inividra. The outpost has been short one, anyway.”

“Best be one of us,” suggests Esfayl. “One of you two.”

“The commander would prefer Gyraet,” Lorn says, looking at Cheryk. “It could be either of you two.”

Cheryk nods. “Not that I wouldn’t like the rank, but Gyraet’d be better for now.”

Gyraet flushes. “I have not been at Inividra long.”

“You’ll do,” says Cheryk. “And you have to write all the reports.”

“Ser…” Gyraet begins. “This… I did not…”

“I know.” Lorn looks at Gyraet. “I hope you can handle it. I think it’s better this way, and I think you two and Rhalyt need to prepare to leave first thing in the morning. I’ll arrange for as many firelances as I can find for you. I’ve already drafted and the commander has signed a request for replacement officers. There will be raids by late summer, I think. Not much before, and they’ll be small raids on isolated hamlets. So you will need to go back to one-company patrols.” Lorn grins. “I’m not saying that to make the commander happy. If nothing happens, by a year or two from now, you may need to resume larger patrols, but I don’t think the barbarians have enough men for large raids now.”

“I’ll wager they don’t,” says Esfayl.

“You’ll have to rotate taking Second and Fifth Companies,” Lorn says, “until you get the replacement officers.”

“We’ve done worse, and there won’t be raids for a time,” Cheryk says. “Are you sure matters here are settled?”

“As settled as we can make them.” Lorn shrugs. “And I wouldn’t want any peasants-or lancers-to suffer. If everyone is under proper orders, then I doubt there will be many problems.”