Magi'i of Cyador (56 page)

All is well with Ryalor House. We have been able to broker some additional timber shipments when the amount of timber increased past the anticipated contract levels, as I had suspected might well occur....

Why had she suspected? Because the timber came from fallen trunks and because Lorn's presence meant more falling trunks?

...our interests in coastal shipping have also offered solid results, for equally predictable reasons....

Lorn sets down the scroll of his consort-to-be and laughs. His father and Jerial must have just looked. Jerial's wagering ventures have let her overhear much of the gossip, and many of the facts could not have been hidden. Not when Ryalor House has trading spaces three times as large as before, its own warehouse, interests in coastal ships, and who knows what else that Ryalth has not told him.

And all because a student mage saved a pretty face from being attacked years before? A pretty face that hid so much more?

Lorn glances to the cold and sunlit green-blue sky beyond the study window. He hopes that Majer Maran will wait a season or two before returning, but doubts he will have that much time. If... if Lorn is fortunate, he and Ryalth will be consorted, and she will have returned to Cyad before the majer reappears. If...

XCV

Lorn puts his saddle bags on the top of the barrel of grain set beside the gelding's stall and carefully props the pair of firelances between the barrel and the stall wall, waiting for Suforis to finish saddling his mount.

"Be just a moment, ser," the ostler calls.

Lorn smiles to himself, and studies the stable, still as neat and clean as ever, then runs his fingertips over one firelance and then the other, making sure that both are fully charged. Although the patrol before the last one had found a fallen tree-the one they'd had to wait two days for the Engineers to clear, the fact that there had been no fallen trees on the last patrol made it more likely that he and Second Company would encounter one on this patrol-or the next.

"We'd be wishing you a good patrol, ser," offers Suforis as he extends the geldings reins to Lorn.

"We?" asks Lorn with a grin.

"Me and Lesyna. She is most pleased to be cleaning and watching over your new dwelling, now. Her da even said it was worth the old mare he gave her, 'cepting the mare's not for much but carrying her. Leastwise she can go to town now and visit her folks." Suforis grins. "Or carry a scroll or two when it be not wise for me."

"You don't mind her riding alone."

"Lesyna? Always liked the horses, she has. 'Sides, captain, what sense it be to say she'll not ride. Be different when Clebyl gets pensioned off and we get proper quarters, screen and all, instead a' just a big room... and have children... but now?"

"I'm glad it worked out and that you're pleased."

"That be two of us, ser." Suforis bows his head and gestures toward the next stall.

"Go ahead," Lorn says. "You've work to do."

After Lorn fastens his saddle bags in place and slips the two firelances into the holder, the captain leads the gelding out of the stable into the courtyard where the lancers of Second Company are mounting up. The high thin clouds that had been visible at dawn are thickening into a more solid gray-or perhaps the dawn clouds just foreshadowed the heavier clouds moving in from the northeast. The brief gusts of wind seem colder as well.

Outside the stable, Lorn mounts the gelding and rides to the north end of the stable building where Shynt is mustering the first squad. "Good morning, Shynt."

"Good morning, Captain." Shynt glances past Lorn toward the double column of riders. "We be ready, ser."

"How is Hykylt?"

"He will ride, ser." The junior squad leader looks at Lorn and lowers his voice. "Were you trained by a healer, ser?"

"One of my sisters was fortunate enough to become a healer, and I watched closely," Lorn replies. "I would rather that word not be spread." Lorn laughs softly. "A fierce lancer officer must not be seen as a gentle healer."

"Don't know many as would call you soft, ser."

"That's best." Lorn nods and guides the gelding back southward toward Kusyl and the second squad.

"Ready, ser," Kusyl reports, even before Lorn reins up.

"We might as well get started."

"Yes, ser. Second squad, forward, in column by twos!"

"First squad, forward, in column by twos!" echoes from behind them.

Lorn's heels urge the white gelding forward, and his eyes go to the clouds. A light snow would be better than rain, but only a light snow. So they will have rain or heavy snow, he suspects from the twinges in his skull that foreshadow a storm-headache, as he rides out through the compound gate toward the chaos tower building to his right. His face offers but a pleasant smile when he turns the gelding to the southeast and the patrol ahead.

XCVI

Lorn steps out of the stable at Eastend and into the twilight of a winter day. Carrying his saddlebags, he stretches his legs, and readjusts his grip on them. The firelances have already been collected and delivered to the Engineer detachment for replacement or recharging.

The Lancer captain keeps trying to stretch his legs as he crosses the courtyard toward the quarters he will occupy as a transient officer, much as Captain Ilryk does when Third Company finishes a patrol at the Jakaafra compound. Although Second Company's latest patrol offered no tree-falls, the ride had been cold and seemed longer than usual. Lorn's breath leaves white clouds as he walks briskly across the white granite stones, glad this time for the white winter jacket that he wears.

"Captain!" A figure in the uniform of a Mirror Engineer waves from fifty cubits away.

"Majer." Lorn raises his hand in reply as he recognizes Majer Weylt.

Weylt waits for Lorn to reach him before speaking. "I'd hoped you'd get here this evening. Otherwise, it would have been a lonely evening meal."

"Are all the other officers gone?" asks Lorn.

"Yes. Be just us here tonight. Captain Strynst is off checking a tree-fall on the southeast ward-wall. And the patrol captain here... have you met Gowl?"

"Just in passing. We've shared a few meals."

"He's the one who found the tree. So that leaves us." Weylt shrugs, then smiles briefly. "I'll see you in the officers' dining area shortly."

"I need to clean up a bit."

"That's fine." With a nod, Weylt turns and walks toward the building adjoining the quarters.

Lorn shaves and washes quickly, and pulls on his one clean runic before leaving the transient officer's room and walking out across the now-empty courtyard. When he enters the next building, Lorn can hear the hubbub from the larger hall where the lancers are already eating. In the officers' area, the engineer majer is waiting at one of the two tables, alone.

"I did hurry," Lorn says as he nears.

"I can tell. The food may not be worth the haste." Weylt gestures toward the bottle on the table. "All I have is Byrdyn, Captain. Scarcely repayment for that Fhynyco you had for me at Jakaafra."

"After a cold and long patrol, the Byrdyn is most welcome," Lorn replies, seating himself across from Weylt.

A server in gray appears and deposits a small casserole dish on the square table, a poor rendition of emburhka, from what Lorn can smell. A small loaf of a rye-like bread in a basket accompanies the dish.

"How long were you working on the Great Canal?" Lorn asks while Weylt fills both goblets.

"Near-on a season. That's the way it seemed." Weylt lifts his goblet. "To better days." After a quick small swallow, the majer heaps some of the emburhka onto his crockery platter.

"To better days," Lorn reiterates as he lifts his own goblet and takes a sip. Then he serves himself, then breaks off a chunk of the bread in the basket and sets it on one side of his platter. "What happened? I heard the retaining walls of the Great Canal collapsed...."

"In a way." Weylt tilts his head, as if thinking of a way to explain. "You know that the Accursed Forest lies in the middle of Eastern Cyador. It's raised just a little, and the land is flat around it, and then slopes down... well, if it rains too much over or around the Forest the water has to go somewhere. And if the land to the south and west is already soaked, then the Fryadyr River overflows. It overflowed, and broke through the levees near Geliendra and then carved a way to the Great Canal...."

"So... when the rains stopped, the river was flowing into the canal?" Weylt nods. "Almost like there had been a river there once. Maybe there was, before the Firstborn changed things. That made it hard. We had to build a dam and then replace the levees before we could even start on repairing the Canal." He frowns. "I didn't realize that they've started using oxen to pull the freight boats along the canal."

Lorn shrugs helplessly. "I wouldn't know. I didn't come that way."

"No one could tell me why. Oh... they said things like the chaos-cells for the tow wagons were needed elsewhere. But that doesn't make sense. There are plenty of cells."

"Is there plenty of chaos-force away from the Accursed Forest?" asks Lorn, almost idly. "Or maybe they need it to charge firelances used against the barbarians."

"That could be." After taking a swallow of the Byrdyn, Weylt glances at Lorn. "You've been carrying two firelances for the past few patrols."

"Seems like I've had to. Even with reinforcements, we're only at three-quarters strength." Lorn but sips from his goblet, looking guilelessly at the major. "We've had a lot of fallen trees on the northeast ward-wall."

"I can see where the extra lance might help." Weylt's tone is even, unforced. "Of course, we don't have enough lances to issue two to every lancer."

"I wouldn't be using a second one if we had a full complement," Lorn points out.

"There don't seem to be enough lancers anywhere, these days. That's true." Weylt pauses to take several mouthfuls of the casserole before speaking again. "Be glad to get home leave, and some good emburhka."

"How long for you?" Lorn asks between bites of the too-heavily peppered and overcooked emburhka.

"Another three seasons, at the end of summer." Weylt's lips twist. "Afterwards, I'll be back here, just like you will be."

Lorn nods, waiting, knowing from the edge in the engineer's voice that more is coming.

"You make reports on every patrol, don't you?" Weylt asks.

"We all do."

"Reports..." Weylt snorts. "We even have to report on every lance we recharge or replace. By squad and company, of course. And a separate place for the officers. They all go to Majer Maran. Don't know what good they do."

"I think every report must go there," Lorn suggests. "I suppose he could figure out how much chaos energy it takes each squad to handle each tree-fall. Except each one's different."

"They might be trying to find out how much chaos energy it really takes. If they have trouble powering the Canal tow wagons..." Weylt refills his goblet, and glances at Lorn.

The lancer captain looks down at a goblet still half full. "I think not. With more Byrdyn, I might not wake up that easily in the morning."

"Then, Commander Meylyd or your Majer Maran might have something else in mind," suggests Weylt.

"They might," Lorn agrees. "Who would know, though?" He takes another small sip of the Byrdyn. "I thank you for the wine. It's been most welcome... and the conversation."

"Not at all. I hate eating alone, and you're one of the very few who understands the position of a Mirror Engineer." Weylt raises his eyebrows but slightly. "Now... or even perhaps in the future."

"I think I do," Lorn replies. "And it's clear you're of one of the few here who understands what a lancer captain such as I might face." He lifts the goblet.

Weylt lifts his in return.

They both smile.

XCVII

The Emperor Toziel'elth'alt'mer, who carries the elthage lineage although he has no magely talents, remains at ease in the malachite and silver chair as he listens to those who speak before him. In her smaller chair, back behind his right shoulder, also listens the Empress Ryenyel.

"Why can we not continue to use the chaos towers that surround the Accursed Forest to recharge the firelances and replenish the chaos-cells for the firewagons? I have heard many and elegant words and more words about this," declares Majer-Commander Rynst, "but I cannot say that I have heard an explanation that fully satisfies me."

"We are using those chaos towers exactly for that," replies the First Magus smoothly. "As well you and His Mightiness know. We are sending firelances from Geliendra all the way to the Cerlyni and even the Jeranyi border in some cases. Now is not the problem. It is the future that presents the difficulty." After a long pause, Chyenfel adds, "I have not been exactly silent on the difficulties posed by the Accursed Forest."

"You have been most eloquent in stating that the Accursed Forest presents a difficulty," Rynst agrees, his words warm. "Yet... my lancers, even my Captain-Commander, as I am most certain you know from your Second Magus, would know what is so deadly about the Forest that it is to be feared more greatly than the barbarians of the north. Their blades claim far more lancers than do the creatures of the Forest."

"There are none so deaf as cover their ears and will not hear." Chyenfel's smooth voice drips honey. "Not that you have ever covered your ears, wisest and most powerful of lancers and Warrior of Light, but it may be that other lancers, more concerned about what may happen in the handful of years immediately before us, have done so."

Only the slightest tightening of the muscles around his eyes betrays the interest of the Emperor. There is no visible change in the Empress, who continues to look vaguely amused, as her eyes rest not on either the First Magus or the Mirror Lancer Majer-Commander, but upon Merchanter Adviser Bluoyal.

"My dear friend, never have you been so effusive in your compliments." Rynst smiles indulgently. "But I beg you explain in terms simple enough for me to convey to those lancers who may die without the chaos-cells charged by the Forest towers."

Beside Rynst, Bluoyal looks at the white and glistening stones of the floor of the audience chamber.