Scion of Cyador (42 page)

At the open space of the topmost floor, there is another senior squad leader seated behind yet another golden-oak table desk. There are three doorways from the foyerlike space-one to the right, one to the left, and one directly behind the squad. The doorways to the left and right are closed and each guarded by a pair of Mirror Lancers, again with sabres and the short firelances. The double doors behind the table desk are open and unguarded.

Lorn steps forward and extends the order scroll. “Sub-Majer Lorn. As ordered, I am reporting personally to the Majer-Commander.” As an afterthought, he also extends the hand with the Mirror Lancer seal ring.

“Yes, ser. They’ve been expecting you.” The squad leader studies Lorn for the briefest of moments. “You came directly, I see.”

“As directly as I could,” Lorn says.

“The Captain-Commander will see you first, and then the Majer-Commander.” The staffer turns in his chair and gestures toward the open doors behind him. “If you would wait in the anteroom there… ? There is water and some fruit and cheese there, if you haven’t had a chance to eat recently. And, ser… I’ll be giving your orders to the Majer-Commander.”

“Thank you.” Lorn inclines his head.

“Not at all, ser.” The senior squad leader rises and walks toward the door to the left-on the north side of the open foyer.

Lorn lifts the bags and walks toward the receiving area. The room beyond the double doors is small, no more than ten cubits by fifteen, with a settee against the oak-paneled wall opposite the doors. The settee is flanked by two narrow and open windows. Set out from the settee and at right angles are two wooden armchairs, each with a green cushion. Against the wall at the right end of the room is a golden-oak sideboard with several trays upon it.

Lorn sets his bags beside the wooden chair closest to the door, and makes his way to the sideboard, where he pours water from the crystal carafe into a matching crystal mug. He studies the water and the trays of bread crackers and cheese, and the fruit bowl with his chaos-senses, but can detect nothing untoward. He lifts the mug and drains it almost immediately. After refilling the mug, he then takes several hard crackers and a drying wedge of cheese, and eats them. He will need his senses about him, and it has been awhile since he has eaten. He takes a second round of crackers and cheese, and finishes those.

“Ser?”

Lorn turns.

“The Majer-Commander has requested that you meet with the Captain-Commander first.” The squad leader gestures toward Lorn’s gear. “You can leave those there.”

“Thank you.” Lorn stops by the bag and extracts a rolled bundle before he follows the staffer out of the receiving area and toward the door on the south side of the foyer.

The squad leader opens it for Lorn, but does not enter.

Lorn steps into the study, a space roughly fifteen cubits wide and thirty long. To his right is an oblong table, with eight armless chairs. The entire wall on the right side of the room is comprised of golden-oak bookshelves, and most of the shelves are filled with volumes. Lorn conceals his interest as he catches sight of several shimmering silver book spines.

The left wall is mostly of narrow windows, although but two are open. The south end of the room contains a wide and polished table desk, set before two wide widows that overlook the south end of Cyad. The man who stands behind the table desk has black hair and bushy black eyebrows and wears a silver sunburst crossed by a sabre on the collar of his cream-and-green uniform.

Lorn bows. “Captain-Commander.”

“Sub-Majer Lorn. It’s good to see you.” Captain-Commander Luss gestures to the chairs before his table desk, waiting a moment before reseating himself.

Lorn steps forward, past the conference table, and takes the chair on the right side. He does not offer the rolled scrolls, keeping them loosely in his left hand.

The Captain-Commander looks full at Lorn and smiles. “You do not look half so deadly as the legends which already surround you.”

“Legends are made by those with other goals, I fear, ser,” Lorn says smoothly. “I have always served Cyad and the Mirror Lancers.”

“Indeed you have, and that is something that all too many of your commanders seem to have forgotten.” Luss’s smile fades into a faint professional shadow of the one which welcomed Lorn. “The problem the Majer-Commander faces is that all senior officers feel that they serve Cyad and the Mirror Lancers… if you understand what I mean.”

“You suggest, ser,” Lorn says slowly, “that there are as many visions of the Mirror Lancers as there are senior officers.”

“Not quite that many,” Luss says with a laugh. “Not near that many… but enough.”

“Which vision do you and the Majer-Commander serve? It would be best that I know that if I am to carry out my duties.”

Luss laughs again. “Were it that simple. Were it that simple.”

Lorn waits, knowing that Luss is watching for a commitment of sorts.

After a time, Luss begins to speak, deliberately. “You have been most diligent in reporting your actions, from the time you first served at Isahl. I have reviewed those reports. You have always reported clearly, and so far as any can tell, with great accuracy. Your reports from Biehl showed even greater detail and accuracy. Yet there were no reports from Inividra until the last report that you wrote for Commander Ikynd. You did write that report, did you not?” Luss lifts his eyebrows.

“I wrote a number of reports while I was commanding at Inividra. As commanded, I sent them all to Majer Dettaur. There were no reports in the files at Assyadt when I reported there after the Jeran campaign.” Lorn shrugs. “I had suggested that duplicates be sent from Inividra to Assyadt, but I was detached, so that I have no idea if that was carried out.”

“You suggest that Majer Dettaur destroyed such reports.”

“Ser… I have no idea what occurred. I can only say that the reports I sent were not in the records chests at Assyadt. I know the reports were written and delivered. Beyond that, only Commander Ikynd and Majer Dettaur would know.”

“You killed Majer Dettaur.”

“He attacked me without warning or reason. I defended myself. I imagine, although one can only surmise, that he feared that my presence would reveal that he had been distorting the records of my actions and that he would be disgraced.”

“Yet, you merely reported that he had died in the line of duty,” Luss says.

“Would there have been any point in revealing that he had distorted the records? Would it have helped the Mirror Lancers?”

“No.” Luss shakes his head. “Most sub-majers who found their actions debased by a superior would not have acted in such a fashion.”

“I cannot say I enjoyed letting Majer Dettaur have an honorable death,” Lorn admits. “But my satisfaction would have served the lancers ill.”

Luss nods. “Indeed it would. Your restraint there was impressive. Because of the difficulties that might have occurred, Majer Dettaur’s reports to lancer headquarters have also been destroyed, and, as you had apparently already suggested, I have requested that Commander Ikynd have duplicates of your reports copied and sent here for the records.”

“I think you will find them thorough and accurate,” Lorn replies.

“Of that, I am most certain.” Luss smiles. “I have little else to add. I did wish to meet you, but the Majer-Commander will be detailing your duties. He was most particular that you would be working directly for him. You should feel flattered. He seldom takes such an interest in a sub-majer.”

“I feel most fortunate,” Lorn replies. “In working for the Majer-Commander, and in having your interest and advice, ser.”

“I am glad you feel so, and trust you will always do so.” Luss rises and steps around the table. “We need to bring you to the Majer-Commander.”

Lorn stands and follows the senior officer back past the conference table and out into the foyer area, past the staffer’s table and to the double doors on the north end of the foyer.

Luss opens the door and motions for Lorn to enter. The sub-majer does so, and Luss follows him inside, closing the door.

The study is the same length as that of the Captain-Commander, but wider, close to thirty cubits, and there are windowed doors that open onto a roof terrace that, Lorn can see through all the windows on each of the three walls before him, surrounds the study.

The gray-eyed, gray-haired Mirror Lancer officer who stands beside his table desk is not so tall as either Lorn or Luss, and more slender, yet there is the strength of a tested sabre in his frame, and in the gray eyes that seem to take in everything.

“Ser… Sub-Majer Lorn,” offers Luss.

“Greetings.” Rynst looks at Luss. “And thank you, Luss. I will be talking to you later about the deployments.”

“Yes, ser.” Luss inclines his head and slips back out of the study.

Lorn stands waiting.

“Come on… have a seat. It’s more comfortable than a firewagon. Tygyl said that you came almost directly here.”

“Yes, ser.” Lorn steps forward, past the conference table that is more than twice the size of the one in the Captain-Commander’s office, and takes the seat opposite the left-hand corner of the polished table desk. Through the window before which Rynst sits, Lorn can see both the gray-blue waters of the harbor and the Palace of Eternal Light, the outlines of both blurred by the mist of the late-spring day.

Rynst’alt surveys Lorn slowly. “You are indeed your father’s son. It’s too bad that he didn’t live to see it. I’m sorry for his death.”

Lorn forces his himself to swallow and his face to turn blank. “His death?”

Rynst frowns. “You didn’t know?”

“No, ser. I did not know. I worried because there was no response to my scrolls home, and I have feared, but I did not know. I did fear the worst.”

“You were sent scrolls.”

Lorn offers a tight smile. “Majer Dettaur thought it best I should not be troubled by scrolls from my consort or from my family-only from my sire.”

Rynst’s face tightens. “Those are harsh words about a fellow officer, and someone who has been close to your family.”

Lorn meets the older officer’s eyes. “I do not trouble myself to lie, ser. He would have destroyed the outpost at Inividra to ensure my death. He put my men at risk with every order he issued in the name of Commander Ikynd.”

Rynst raises his eyebrows. “If that be so… it might explain much. Yet I cannot see why he would do such. He had a bright future.”

“Mine looked brighter to him, ser. That, he could not abide.”

“You will have to deal with this…”

“I already have. When I reported to Commander Ikynd, Dettaur attacked me with a sabre. I was forced to defend myself.” Lorn smiles. “I took the liberty of bringing his orders for you to examine.” The sub-majer extends the rolled bundle.

As he takes the scrolls, Rynst sighs. “You are indeed your father’s son. Act quickly, and support your actions.” He pauses. “Your father was more than any knew, as you will discover.”

Lorn lowers his eyes for a moment, trying to control the burning in them, even though his father’s death is not the sudden shock he has expressed. He swallows. “I’m sorry, ser. Even though I suspected…”

“I can understand that.” Rynst nods. He reads through the scrolls, cursorily, then looks at Lorn. “You did not protest Dettaur’s actions?”

“How?” Lorn’s lips twist. “By dispatching a lancer messenger for a three-day ride to post a scroll that would be read by the Captain-Commander?”

Rynst frowns. “Do you really think you can wear Alyiakal’s mantle?”

“No, ser. No man can wear another’s.”

“That sounds like Kien.” The Majer-Commander shakes his head. “Such honesty is most dangerous in Cyad, young Lorn.”

“Ser… dishonesty with you is far more dangerous.”

Rynst laughs, a low rueful sound, shaking his head. “Chaos-light… you sound so much like your sire. The dry honesty…” He shakes his head again. After a long moment, the Majer-Commander pulls a pouch from his desk drawer and extends it. “You’ve been promoted. You’re a majer. I can’t afford to have aides who are less than majers. No one listens to them. Most don’t listen to majers, but you’ve enough background and a reputation for action that being a majer should be enough. Besides, too much rank right now would not be wise.”

“Yes, ser.” Lorn takes the soft shimmercloth pouch.

Rynst leans forward. “Your tasks are very simple. You do what I ask. You do nothing for anyone else, unless you are certain it is to accomplish what I have set before you.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You have not had any furlough or leave in close to two years. Is that not correct?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You need to see your consort and your family, especially after learning of your father’s death. You have the rest of this eightday, and all of the next. When you return, in addition to your normal reporting duties, your first task is straightforward enough. You write well, and swiftly. That is clear.” Rynst’s lips twist into a smile that is near-ironic. “Not all appreciate that. You know that the chaos-towers are failing. Otherwise you would not have gone to Jera. Draft a plan for dealing with the Jeranyi. For the first draft, do not consider the factions in Cyad. Once you return, you will draft what you believe to be the best lancer solution. Do not put a line to paper until you return. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser.”

“I will see you an eightday from oneday.” Rynst smiles slightly as he stands, “And Majer… two matters: First, put on the insignia before you leave the outer study. And, second, it might be best if no other officers and enumerators disappeared-at least for a while. I don’t have officers to waste, even bad ones, and I’ve suggested, even to the Captain-Commander, that you’ll refrain from such if he will. Now… go and spend some time with your consort and family.”

“Yes, ser.” Lorn stands.

Rynst’s smile is fatherly-almost-as he watches Lorn leave his study.

LXXXV

Lorn wants to touch the emblem on his collar-the miniature crossed lances-as he sits in the carriage that conveys him back down to the Traders’ Plaza. The short trip seems almost a metaphor for his recent life, as he feels he moves from point to point with nothing exactly being settled, each action somehow not quite finished.