Scion of Cyador (49 page)

“Break the blades and take what you can get,” Rynst orders quietly. “Now… what about the reports about food spoilage for the outposts around the
Accursed
Forest
?”

“Spoilage is higher,” Inylt admits. “That is because the Mirror Engineers were required to turn to the use of oxen for the barges on the
Great
Canal
, and grain and flour are too bulky and heavy to load on the remaining firewagons…”

Lorn conceals a frown. “Remaining firewagons”? The term implies that there are fewer firewagons, not just less chaos-cells for them.

“…there are not enough ox teams, and the oxen are slower than the chaos-powered boat tows that were used before. The air is damp along the Canal, and the delays mean that there is more mold and spoilage. More oxen are being bred and trained, but it will be another year before there are enough.”

Rynst merely nods, his eyes moving to Shykt. “When will you finish the report on the possible need for Mirror Foot or Lancers as detachments on long-haul Cyadoran traders?”

“At least two eightdays, ser. We need to meet with more of the masters of the vessels, and that means we must wait until they port.”

Rynst looks across the table. “Does anyone have anything new to mention?”

“No, ser.”

“If not, I’ll see Lhary and Sypcal tomorrow afternoon.” The Majer-Commander nods and stands.

Lorn waits, then stands as well, and waits until the Captain-Commander and the five commanders depart. Then he gathers his papers together.

“Majer?” says Rynst. “I expect those notes in report form on my desk in the morning. Have your clerk make a copy for the Captain-Commander as well.”

“Yes, ser.” Lorn bows.

“There will be another meeting tomorrow afternoon. There is every twoday afternoon. That is when the Captain-Commander and I review the actions of the field commands. Only Commanders Sypcal and Lhary will be with us. If you have time after doing the notes, I would suggest that you begin to consider the strategic plan for the north.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rynst turns, as if to dismiss Lorn.

The majer slips from the study and makes his way down to his own study on the floor below. He pauses as Fayrken-the senior squad leader assigned to Lorn-looks up from his narrow desk outside Lorn’s door.

“Yes, Fayrken?”

“There are all the reports for tomorrow’s meeting in the left box on your desk, ser.”

“Thank you. I’ll have another report that will need to be copied for the Majer-Commander and the Captain-Commander. I hope I’ll have it before long. Oh… and I’d better have a third copy for us.”

“Yes, ser. They sometimes misplace reports.” The hint of a smile lurks in Fayrken’s green eyes.

“Especially if there are no copies?” asks Lorn.

“It would seem that way, ser.”

Lorn shakes his head slightly, then steps into his study and sets the papers and inkwell and pen on the freshly-polished but battered golden-oak surface. As Fayrken had told him, there is a stack of papers in the box in the corner. He picks up the first and reads: Reports from the Accursed Forest Company Patrols, Eightdays four through twelve, Winter, 205 A.F.

He replaces it in the box and sits down at the table desk. His eyes go to the narrow window and the gray day outside. He had wondered if he were the only one thinking about the failure of the chaos-towers. He was not, it is more than clear; yet for all the concerns, only Inylt appears to consider what might be workable alternatives.

Lorn fingers his chin. Or is Inylt simply more direct? Information can be power. Yet information of that sort becomes useless if it does not lead to a solution, and those who hoard such information for personal gain may rule or command the forces of a failing land. He shakes his head. That is not quite accurate, either.

Again… again… he has much to learn, and he fears he has less time in which to learn it than it once seemed.

XCIV

Sitting at his table desk, the afternoon sun pouring through the narrow window, Lorn holds the rough list of possible options for dealing with the Jeranyi. Somehow, matters seem less clear when viewed from
Mirror Lancer Court
than they had from his outpost at Inividra. There, he had only had to worry about keeping casualties low, killing the Jeranyi raiders, and seizing blades and other weapons to reduce the Jeranyi ability to attack Cyador.

He takes a deep breath and looks down at what he has written.

Under the first option, the Mirror Lancers can take the port city of
Jera and establish an outpost there. That will require at least ten companies, plus a heavily-walled compound and regular shipments of supplies and provisions. It will probably require periodic raids or sweeps of the surrounding countryside, and the policing of any and all traders and goods shipped into the city. In effect, it would also transfer many of the casualties from the Mirror Lancers in and around the Grass Hills to those in Jera, and it will cost more golds than the other options. Over time it is possible that Jera could become part of Cyador, and that might lower costs and the numbers of lancers required, but not for many years. Still, the first option will probably have the lowest total number of casualties for the Mirror Lancers.

Under the second option, the Mirror Lancers can request that a magus use a chaos-glass to keep track of the ships going in and out of Jera, and conduct periodic raids… or attempt to board or sink vessels which bring weapons.

Lorn shakes his head. Although the golds required are probably less, that option is unworkable, not without a warship permanently stationed in Biehl and tasked only to patrol that section of the
Northern
Ocean
. With the number of fireships dwindling rapidly, stationing one in the north all the time is highly unlikely. Lorn also doubts that any of the Magi’i would relish or handle the task in the detail necessary, but that is something best not put to ink.

The third option would be to continue what the Mirror Lancers have been doing-at least before the current year, and Lorn’s raid. Even with more innovative patrolling, with multiple-company patrols and more lancers, over time casualties will increase, especially after the firelances fail.

Lorn glances at the stack of reports filling most of the top shelf of the bookcase set against the inner wall. He has read them all and gathered the numbers. In the previous year, from turn of spring to turn of spring, the Mirror Lancers in the compounds and outposts along the Grass Hills had lost nearly fortyscore lancers and twoscore undercaptains and captains. Those figures did not include the casualties who had recovered to fight again. Ten years earlier the numbers had been half that. The figures will go down for the current year, even with his own loss of two officers and more than a company of lancers, but they will not stay down for long unless something changes.

What about more raids into Jeranyi territory? As a fourth option?

Lorn fingers his chin. It is one thing to conduct a single campaign to stop the flow of blades and to deliver a message. It is another to keep raiding another land, for if he recommends that, how is he any different from them? Another consideration is that Mirror Lancer casualties will rise on such raids if they come more often because the Mirror Lancers will lose the advantage of surprise and the Jeranyi will expect such campaigns and will be far more prepared.

He shakes his head. The strategic plan requested by the Majer-Commander is looking more and more difficult… and he has yet to consider the operational, logistical, and tactical considerations of any of the options.

He massages his forehead, then looks blankly toward the half-open window.

XCV

Lorn’s rapier seems to flicker, weaving a wall between him and Tyrsal, as the shorter redhead dances away from the young majer.

“Enough!” Tyrsal jumps back, not lowering his blade for several moments.

Lorn lowers his practice rapier immediately, glancing toward the pair of older majers who continue to practice at the far side of the hall.

Tyrsal also lowers his practice blade and wipes his forehead with the back of the sleeve of his padded practice tunic. “There’s no point to this. Even with you blindfolded and left-handed, I’d still get skewered. You can sense where you are better than most first-level adepts.”

“Me? No.” Lorn shakes his head.

“I’m not blind, my friend,” says the second-level adept wearily. “You had your eyes closed on that last round. You were relying on your chaos-senses, not your eyes.”

“I can’t hide that from you, I see.” Lorn grins.

“Most wouldn’t notice-except maybe Rustyl or the three top Magi’i. They wouldn’t expect it from a senior lancer.”

“I’m not that senior.”

Tyrsal sighs, loudly. “Lorn, I can count. There are perhaps a score - and - a - quarter outposts across Cyador that require majers. There are less than a halfscore that require commanders outside of Cyad.”

“How do you know that?”

“All I had to do was list all the places where lancers go, and see roughly how big they are.” Tyrsal shrugs. “Then I asked a few questions and listened. I might be off by a bit, but that’s not my point. From what I can tell, there are less than threescore Mirror Lancer officers who are majers and commanders. There could be less than that. That makes you a senior officer, like a first-level adept in the Magi’i.”

“So why don’t I feel so senior?” asks Lorn with a laugh. “I’m like the wood panels on the wall. Everyone knows they’re there, but no one pays much attention.”

“That’s because,” Tyrsal says, half-dramatically, “you’ve been able to act before, without having to persuade everyone. If you figured out how to fight the
Accursed
Forest
better, everyone was happy…”

Lorn can recall a few officers who were not, but he continues to listen.

“…and when you found out how to stop the Jeranyi raids, you only had to kill Dett, who deserved it years before, anyway, to get the Majer-Commander to listen. But you were doing what you were ordered to do-if in a different way. Now… you assist someone who makes the decisions, and no one asks for your advice, and no one gives you any real actions to take.” The redheaded magus laughs. “So you ask me to spar and take it out on me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tyrsal shifts his weight as he walks toward the rack that holds the practice weapons. “I’m going to have bruises on my bruises. That’s what I get for sparring with a professional.” He grins. “You’d do better against other lancers.”

Lorn shakes his head. “You’re better than most of them.”

After racking his practice blade, Tyrsal looks long at Lorn. “You’re honestly telling the truth. You are.” He shakes his head. “No wonder so many fear you.”

In turn, Lorn racks his blade and pauses. “You’re good with truthreading, aren’t you?”

The redheaded magus nods, then grins almost boyishly. “Why?”

Lorn shakes his head, mimicking Tyrsal’s abrupt gesture. “No wonder they keep you away from the senior Magi’i.” He grins in return.

“I’d tell you to go home to your consort, except that it’s the middle of the day, and we both have to get back to work.”

“I’d tell you the same, except you don’t have a consort.”

Tyrsal looks down.

“Don’t tell me there is someone?” Lorn grins again. “After all those years of telling me you’d never find anyone?”

“Perchance… I don’t know.”

“Do I know her?” Lorn waits.

“You know of her… but don’t ask. If it works, you’ll be the second to know.”

“After your mother?”

“I have to tell her first.” Tyrsal smiles boyishly once more.

Lorn nods, asking, “Do you want to bring her to dinner next sixday? The only one who I might ask is Jerial, and she won’t say anything.”

Tyrsal frowns, then smiles. “Why not?”

“I’ll check on the day with Ryalth. I might have to move it one day or so.” Lorn frowns to himself. “Best I let you know tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.” Tyrsal blots his forehead. “If we want to get anything to eat… we’d better hurry.”

“According to the outside board, there’s a stew at the Kettle.”

“It’s better than going hungry…”

“But not much?” asks Lorn as he follows Tyrsal toward the washroom.

“Not much at all.” Tyrsal laughs.

XCVI

Commander Shykt and Commander Muyro sit across the Majer-Commander’s conference table from each other, Muyro on the north side, Shykt on the south. Each has a document before him. Lorn is seated in the armless chair to Rynst’s left.

The door to the study opens, and a commander unfamiliar to Lorn steps inside. He has rugged features, a pockmarked face, and iron-gray hair. He also carries some form of document under his left arm. “Greetings, Majer-Commander.”

“Commander Dhynt,” Rynst announces. “Majer Lorn is my new adjutant and assistant.” He remains seated as he continues. “Commander Dhynt is in charge of the fireships… such as they are.”

Dhynt nods brusquely in Lorn’s direction and sits down in the chair beside the brown-haired Shykt, inclining his head to the swarthy Muyro and then to Shykt. He places the thick set of papers on the polished table before him.

Rynst studies the iron-haired and square-faced commander. “This is the fifth meeting we have had over the last year about the problems with the chaos-towers. Each of you is supposed to have a report for me.”

A round of nods follows the words of the Majer-Commander.

“I will study the documents, but I expect a summary from each of you.” Rynst glances at the most recent arrival. “You may begin, Dhynt.”

The gray-haired commander clears his throat. “The chaos-towers which provide the power systems for the fireships came from the Rational Stars, somewhere beyond chaos itself, and cannot be built on our world. In the more than tenscore years since the creation of Cyador, no chaos-tower has ever been successfully restored, even when it appeared identical to those still functioning. Further, the power projection systems employed by the Magi’i and Mirror Engineers cannot be used except with the concentrated chaos-power supplied by a tower. The Magi’i have attempted to use a number of the most powerful Magi’i in concentrating naturally-occurring chaos, but that chaos was either somehow different or not powerful enough to make the projection equipment work. Since the projection equipment is required to fabricate new chaos-cells, such as those used in the firewagons, and those used in the firecannon, while firecannon could be mounted on sailing warships, the Magi’i estimate that such cells will last only for one- to twoscore years after the failure of the last chaos-tower.”