Scion of Cyador (53 page)

“…In effect, to compensate for the total loss of firelances, each outpost which had five companies before this year, and which now has six as a result of the transfers from the companies that were patrolling the Accursed Forest, will require at least one additional company.”

Luss nods, ever so slightly.

“I see,” Rynst says. “Together you are suggesting that we will need more training and more lancers, and that our casualties will be higher. This will cost more golds, and those costs do not include the golds required to pay for obtaining the cupridium lances.” Rynst leans forward.

Sypcal nods.

“That is true, Majer-Commander,” Lhary replies smoothly. “We felt that you should know fully what the costs would be before you supported or opposed any changes in the placement and numbers of Mirror Lancer companies in the north.”

Lorn tries to keep taking notes as quietly as possible, while still studying the faces of the officers and trying to truth-read them.

“What do you think, Luss?” asks Rynst.

“I would suggest that you study the report most carefully and become most familiar with the calculations before you discuss matters in any meeting with the Merchanter Advisor. Commander Lhary can be asked about the calculations, Commander Sypcal about the tactical questions.”

Rynst offers a faint smile. “It appears as though none of our choices are to our favor. To control the barbarians we cannot use the tactics and weapons we have favored. Nor is it likely that the Emperor will favor spending the golds necessary to maintain the northern outposts in the way suggested by your report, Commanders.” He looks at Luss. “Do you think so, Captain-Commander?”

“At present, it would seem unlikely, ser.” Luss’s voice is cautious.

“I would have all of you consider what other approaches to dealing with the barbarians might be possible, and at what costs.” Rynst looks first at Lhary, then at Sypcal. He does not actually look at Luss.

“Yes, ser,” replies the redheaded commander.

“Ser,” adds Lhary.

“We will meet again in an eightday.” Rynst stands. “Until next twoday.”

Lorn stands with the other officers, waiting until Luss and the two commanders depart before gathering his notes.

“I would like your report on this meeting by midday tomorrow, Majer.”

“Yes, ser.”

“It will be interesting to see what happens at the next meeting on this matter.” Rynst offers a broad smile.

“Ser.” Lorn bows.

“You may go, Majer.”

Lorn bows again, and makes his way from the long study out into the fifth-floor foyer, nodding to Tygyl as he passes the desk where the senior squad leader sits.

“Majer?”

Lorn looks to the top of the open stone staircase where the Captain-Commander waits. “Yes, ser?”

“Have you finished your report to the Majer-Commander, Majer?” Luss offers an ingratiating smile.

“I have submitted a draft, ser.” Lorn shrugs apologetically. “I do not know if the Majer-Commander has read it. He has not spoken about it. He has not asked for changes or revisions.”

“I am most certain he will, in his own time, Majer. The Majer-Commander always acts when he wishes.”

Lorn nods.

“And he uses what will benefit him and the Mirror Lancers, in whatever fashion may best serve both,” Luss adds. “Serving in
Mirror Lancer Court
is not the place for those who wish to be known in Cyad or Cyador.”

“I had not thought it otherwise, ser,” Lorn says politely.

“Best you should remember that in the seasons to come, Majer. Good day.” With the same unvarying and warm smile, Luss turns and walks toward the door to his own study.

Lorn starts down the steps to his own study, and the report on a meeting he must have ready for copying before the afternoon is out.

CIII

As he walks around the bedchamber, carrying Kerial and patting his son on the back, Lorn yawns. The sole light in the room is a single bronze lamp on the bedside table, its wick turned low enough that only a faint glow extends beyond the table.

“You don’t have to do that.” The tired-eyed mother looks up from the ornate bed, trying not to yawn. “You really don’t.”

“You’re so tired your eyes are black, and you almost fell over into the armoire,” Lorn says. “You need some rest.” He shifts Kerial higher on his shoulder and pats his son’s back again, continually and gently. “Jerial says there’s no chaos here, and I don’t sense any, but his tummy still bothers him.”

Ryalth laughs. “It’s strange to hear you talk about his tummy.”

“Children don’t have stomachs; they have tummies,” Lorn offers in a falsely arch tone. “Now turn over and go to sleep.”

“I’m tired, but I’m not sleepy.” Ryalth yawns.

Lorn shakes his head. “Not sleepy?”

“You need sleep, too. You won’t think very well tomorrow,” she counters.

“It doesn’t matter right now. I can’t do anything, except write reports on meetings.” As Kerial half cries, half whimpers, Lorn concentrates and pats his son on the back and circles in the space between the bed and the armoires. After another two circles, he looks at Ryalth.

Her eyes are still open.

“Do you have any idea how the Emperor could raise more coins from tariffs?” Lorn asks.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems impossible,” Lorn replies, stifling another yawn and patting the unhappy Kerial, who continues to whimper every time his father stops walking. “No one respects our traders unless we have warships and lancers, and we need more of each, with the chaos-towers failing. That takes more coins, but if tariffs go up, there is less trade and fewer coins.”

“Lower the tariffs on trade and tariff something else-like the dwellings of the Magi’i.” Ryalth shakes her head. “That won’t work. There aren’t enough Magi’i. I’m too tired to think.”

“Just close your eyes and try to sleep. You need it more than I do.” Lorn slips toward the single lamp by the bed and turns down the wick. With his night vision, he doesn’t need the light, and Ryalth needs the darkness and the sleep.

Then he continues to walk in circles, patting Kerial and humming softly.

CIV

Lorn looks at the stack of reports on the corner of his desk-most of them copies of requests for provisions and weapons. Finally, he picks up the first one-from a Majer Kuyn at Pemedra-and begins to read.

He is on the second page when there is a knock on the door of his
Mirror Court
study. He looks up. “Yes?”

“Majer, if you have a moment?” A red-haired commander steps inside- Commander Sypcal, the Eastern Regional commander of Mirror Lancers.

Lorn stands quickly. “Of course, ser.”

Sypcal closes the study door and glances at the chair across the table desk from Lorn. “If you don’t mind… ?”

“Oh… please.” Lorn waits until the commander sits before reseating himself and waiting for the other to offer his reason for calling on a junior majer.

Sypcal’s green eyes take in the room, then focus on Lorn. “You have a pleasant study, Majer, and very little showing your personal side. I would not have expected otherwise. You are wise to do that.” A rueful expression crosses his lips. “Especially in Cyad, where everyone seems to know everything.”

“Cyad is known to be like that.”

“You would know that, having been raised here.” Sypcal glances toward the window, slightly ajar, then back at Lorn. “I am going to be honest with you, Majer Lorn. I am not a city lancer. As all can tell you, I come from Geliendra, and my father was a cooper.”

As he sits closer to Sypcal than he has at the formal meetings in the study of the Majer-Commander, Lorn can see the silver streaks in the red hair, and the fine lines radiating from around the commander’s green eyes.

“No one was more surprised than I was when Rynst-he was Captain-Commander then-asked me to come from Assyadt to Cyad. I’ve been here seven years.”

“All speak highly of you, ser,” Lorn says.

“Everyone speaks highly of everyone in Cyad. How could it be otherwise?” A smile crinkles the corners of Sypcal’s mouth.

“You suggest that it is only a question of how highly one is spoken?”

“And about what one is praised. I am praised for my grasp of tactics, Inylt for his grasp of logistics, Muyro for his understanding of the operations of the Mirror Engineers…” Sypcal shrugs. “My tactics mean little in
Mirror Lancer Court
.”

“They mean much in the field,” Lorn replies.

“You are kind,” Sypcal says. “And we may speak of that later. I do have one question. You may choose not to answer it, but I would prefer to ask.”

Lorn smiles wryly. “That sounds like a dangerous question.”

Sypcal laughs, once. “Not that dangerous.” He pauses. “Would you care to tell me why the Captain-Commander fears you?”

Lorn forces a laugh, one he hopes is genial enough. “I wasn’t aware that I created fear, except perhaps among the Jeranyi and some of the junior lancers I commanded.” He lets the smile that follows the laugh fade. “If what you say is true, I could hazard a guess, but it would only be such.”

“Would you?” Sypcal raises his eyebrows.

Lorn decides to gamble, although it is not really that great a gamble. “Several officers have been sent to kill me under questionable circumstances. They failed.”

“So it is said.” Sypcal nods. “Will you indulge another question?”

Lorn nods.

“Do you know why you are in Cyad? You are arguably the best junior field commander in the Mirror Lancers. Had you been given command in Syadtar, we might not even have a problem with the barbarians, or certainly far less of one. The Majer-Commander, for all his faults, and he has many to accompany his strengths, has always been known to favor good field commanders in the field.”

“But you are here,” Lorn points out.

Sypcal shakes his head. “I was a good field commander. I know what it requires to be a great one, but I am older than I look, and tired, Majer. I suggested to Rynst that you be given the command at Syadtar-or the assistant command and then promoted. He refused, without giving a reason.”

Lorn does not conceal the frown. “That, I cannot say. Commander Ikynd at Assyadt recommended that I be assigned to Cyad.”

“And you doubtless drafted that recommendation?”

Lorn smiles. “Let us say that it was a mutual decision. I felt that I had too little experience to take on a large field command, and certainly not enough rank. I did not want another immediate assignment fighting, and it appeared likely that staying in the field would require that.” He shrugs.

“And you had already had a port detachment.” Sypcal nods. “From your viewpoint, it makes much sense. You could see your consort and family, and you could learn more about the lancers.” He smiles again, openly and warmly. “Have you?”

Lorn nods. “A great deal. Enough to discover that there is much more to learn.”

“There always is.” Sypcal stands.

Lorn does as well.

“Thank you for indulging my curiosity. I’m pleased to know that you are capable of dealing with the unexpected. One can never be too careful in Cyad.” Sypcal takes a step toward the door, and then turns back. “Oh… you might wish to know that Commander Lhary and the Captain-Commander were most pleased that you were assigned to Cyad, rather than a larger field command.” Sypcal smiles once more, but only with his mouth. “I trust you will find use for that observation.”

“I cannot say I am surprised by the preferences of the Captain-Commander. I had not known of Commander Lhary’s preferences.”

“Commander Lhary is most circumspect about both his preferences and his life. Circumspection is often necessary in Cyad. Good day, Majer.”

“Good day, ser.” Lorn bows slightly.

Once the door is closed, Lorn frowns. Has he waited too long? Has he been reacting too much to events? He laughs, half-bitterly. All he has done in Cyad is react.

Yet… what can he do? What should he do? Everything that Sypcal said bore the feel of truth, and Lorn could sense that the commander offered no barriers.

Action would be far more to his preference than to wait, but there is a time for action, and that time has not come, nor does Lorn yet know of any way to hasten it.

His eyes flick to the reports he must read, but he raises his eyes and glances out the window once more, for a long moment, before returning to the reading at hand.

CV

After taking a last sip of the Alafraan, Lorn looks across the dining table at Ryalth, then at Jerial, who sits to Ryalth’s right. Outside the open windows, the sky is darkening into purple, and a cooler breeze blows off the harbor from the south, strong enough to stir the air in the house, despite the walls that surround house and garden.

“You’ve been wanting to say something all through dinner,” Jerial says. “I recognize that pose.”

“It’s serious,” Ryalth adds. “You didn’t want to spoil dinner, but that’s why you asked Jerial.”

“You both know me too well,” Lorn admits with a rueful laugh. “I have no secrets from either of you.”

“What is it, dear brother?” Jerial arches her dark eyebrows.

“Something is about to happen. Not immediately, but I think someone, or more than one person, has decided that my notoriety has faded enough.” Lorn glances across the table from Jerial to Ryalth. “Can you have someone inquire-very discreetly-about Commander Lhary?” he asks. “And a commander named Sypcal. I’ve been given hints that Lhary has contacts of the kind one must treat with great care. Sypcal seems to be what he is, but I’d like to know.”

Ryalth and Jerial exchange glances.

“I can ask,” Ryalth says.

“So can I,” Jerial says. “It will take an eightday or so if you want none to know.”

“The fewer know, the better. There is time… now.” Lorn hopes there is time. “Also… I hate to say this… but I’d feel happier if we had some guards.”

Ryalth laughs. “I could see your concerns rising over the past eightday, and Eileyt has reported more curiosity, especially from certain Austran traders. I’ve already taken certain steps.”