Magi'i of Cyador (67 page)

He pauses, then continues.

I will only be in Cyad for an eightday and a few days, because I am not due for home leave for another two years, and I dearly hope that this does not find you traveling elsewhere. Still, we must take the opportunities we have in an uncertain world.

He can think of no news that may help her trading, nor of anything else of import as great as his coming to Cyad. Reluctantly, he adds another line.

If you would arrange for another three sets of uniforms for me, I will repay you when I arrive in Cyad. I will be there so short a time, I fear that they would not be ready were I to wait until I arrive.

He looks out his window, but the clouds block the stars. Finally, he picks up the pen and dips it again and closes.

I look to those moments we will have together, and to seeing you again far sooner than I had thought possible.... With all my affection and love...

Yawning, he sets aside the pen. He must still write his family, and, on the morrow, finish another set of patrol reports. The day after will be another patrol. There will be one more after that before he can leave Jakaafra, more than enough time to find himself in trouble if he does not maintain his guard and his skills in dealing with the Accursed Forest.

Then... will he ever not find himself facing trouble in such times, he being who he is and not what others would wish?

He looks into the darkness. Is that not what all men believe? How is he any different from them?

For that, he has no answer, not one that does not flatter his self-esteem.

CXV

Lorn recognizes the face of the officer who rides into Jakaafra compound late in the afternoon, but for a moment cannot recall the name. The black-bearded captain is swarthy, and his height is well above average.

Akytol-the name comes to Lorn-was the older lancer officer candidate with whom he had ridden in the firewagon to Kynstaar when he had first left Cyad for lancer training. Lorn nods to himself and starts across the courtyard. He reaches the stable just behind the big lancer officer.

"Stable!" Akytol calls.

Suforis steps out into the courtyard and looks up at the tall captain. "Yes, ser?"

"Is this where I can stable my mount?"

"Yes, ser."

Lorn walks toward the older, but now junior officer, as Akytol dismounts outside the compound stable.

The black-bearded officer frowns as Lorn approaches, but then looks back at Suforis to hand over his mount's reins.

"You're here to take command of Second Company?" Lorn asks pleasantly.

"Yes." Akytol turns, and adds, quickly, "Ah, yes, ser." as the late afternoon light of spring glints off the linked bars with the overcaptain's arch that are fastened to Lorn's collar.

The ostler glances from Akytol to Lorn.

"This is Captain Akytol, Suforis," Lorn explains. "He is a well-respected and very solid Lancer officer."

Akytol continues to wear a vaguely puzzled expression, as if he still cannot place Lorn.

"I'm Lorn. We left Cyad together for Kynstaar a number of years ago." Akytol swallows. "Oh... I am sorry, ser. I did not recognize you."

"That's all right. We all change over the years. You always wore a beard, and that made it easier for me. If you will get your gear, I can show you the quarters. You can either have the first room, or mine after I leave tomorrow. It's your choice. Then I'll show you the studies, and we can talk over the evening meal, such as it is."

"I would appreciate that." Akytol nods awkwardly. He turns to unfasten the two large kit bags from behind his saddle, then follows Lorn across the courtyard.

"This is the only compound without an Engineer detachment, and the other company here is really a domestic peacekeeping company. It's commanded by Undercaptain Juist," Lorn explains. "They'll take over patrols during company furloughs, but otherwise, you have full responsibility for the northeast ward-wall."

"Sub-Majer Hybyl did say something about that." Lorn opens the door to the quarters. "You can put your gear in the first room. I've always used the second." While Akytol deposits his bags, Lorn takes the last bottle of Alafraan from his wardrobe, and rejoins the captain. Then Lorn leads the taller officer back into the courtyard and to the small administrative building.

"Our spaces are the first ones. The outer study is for the lancer records, and the senior squad leader." Lorn opens the door, but Kusyl has already left for the day. Lorn opens the inner door. "This will be your study. The small foot chest there holds the patrol reports and other papers. I'll give you the key in the morning."

Akytol nods.

"Now... let's get something to eat."

The officers' dining area is empty, as Lorn had guessed, since Juist had left early in the morning to handle a problem some forty kays to the west at a town Lorn had not heard of before that morning and since Ilryk is not due for several days, assuming Fifth Company has not found another downed tree.

Lorn uncorks the wine and fills one of the goblets, but only half-fills his own. Then he sits. As if waiting for them, a server appears drops a casserole dish on the table with the usual basket of bread.

"Fowl, I think," Lorn guesses. "It's more often mutton." He gestures to the dish. "Go ahead."

As Akytol serves himself, Lorn continues, "You have to keep patrol reports, just as with the barbarians, but you also have to send a summary report to Sub-Majer Hybyl after each complete patrol-out to Eastend and back...." Lorn goes on to explain the location of reports and lancer records, serving himself as he does.

As Lorn speaks, Akytol's eyes take in the overcaptain's bars again, for at least the third time since they have been seated in the officers' dining area.

"...handled by the senior squad leader-that's Kusyl." Lorn stops, and refills Akytol's goblet.

"Thank you."

"Where have you been?" asks Lorn.

"At Inividra-that's one of the outposts under Assyadt. I had Third Company there."

"The last year or so, you've had more barbarian attacks, they say."

"Almost twice as many as before. We're seeing more Brystan weapons, too. Better iron, sometimes nearly as hard as cupridium." Akytol refills his platter. "The size of the raiding parties is larger, too."

"Archers?" Lorn asks almost idly, taking a small sip of the Alafraan.

"Some. They say there weren't any years ago. They're not very good. Take a good firelance any day." Akytol swallows the last of the Alafraan in his goblet. "Good wine."

"It's Alafraan. A friend sent me some. It would be hard to take it with me." Lorn refills Akytol's heavy and crude glass goblet.

"It is good."

"The barbarians just charged us when I was at Isahl," Lorn observes. "Was it that way at Inividra?"

Akytol nods, his mouth full.

Lorn waits, encouraging the bigger officer to go on.

"...just take those big blades and charge at you. They didn't seem to care who they charged... officer or ranker. Lately, a couple of groups showed up with local lances-long poles with billhooks on 'em. Nasty if they got too close." Akytol takes another large swallow of the Alafraan. "Except they're better suited to a footman."

"Or if your firelances charges are low."

Akytol nods again. "A couple of times, we didn't get full charges before we had to go out. Lost a quarter score just on that count. Sub-majer said he couldn't do anything, that the Magi'i were having some sort of trouble, he guessed." The bigger officer snorts.

"I understand an old acquaintance of mine is at Assyadt. A Sub-Majer Dettaur. We grew up together. Have you run across him?" Lorn refills Akytol's goblet a second time.

"Sub-Majer Dettaur... he's number two at the headquarters in Assyadt. Sometimes, takes a patrol. Good man."

"He was always good with blades, any kind," Lorn suggests.

"He still spars a lot, I hear, but I wasn't there much. It's a good sixty kays from Assyadt to Inividra." Akytol frowns. "You have a sister... ah, ser?"

"I have two. Sub-Majer Dettaur once courted one of them."

"You have a... certain reputation...." Akytol says slowly. "I had not realized..."

Lorn nods. "I'm aware of that. That's why you're getting Second Company, I'm sure. Commander Meylyd and Sub-Majer Hybyl wish that my replacement be a lancer who is very traditional. They're quite pleased that you were available, I am certain."

"Sub-majer didn't say much beyond outlining procedures, and providing a patrol manual."

"It is a good idea to read it carefully," Lorn says, almost dryly. "I might add that it is acceptable to use a staggered line of five abreast in facing the wild creatures. The giant cats and stun lizards are more durable than the barbarians, and you will need as many firelances as you can focus on them. And the giant serpents-we only came across one of those-I don't think they're terribly dangerous so long as you stay back from them. So I'd suggest dealing with a serpent after all the other dangers and creatures...." He smiles. "The manual doesn't mention serpents, but squad leader Kusyl can tell you more, if you wish to know."

"Giant serpents?"

Lorn nods, looking down at his empty platter, not that he has eaten all that much. "I will sign over Second Company in the morning." Lorn pauses. "Do you have any other questions I might answer?"

"Any place where I can get wine like that?" Akytol grins.

"You might try the spirit factor in the town of Jakaafra. His name is Dustyn. He can get any number of types of spirits. So can the chandler, I've been told, but I used the spirit factor."

"Good to know." Akytol nods. "Where are you going, ser?"

"A port detachment in Biehl. A partial tour, I think, although no one has said."

"You're lucky, ser. Like to get one of those myself, one day."

"Perhaps you will." Lorn stands. "I need to take care of a few things. You can have the rest of the bottle. I'll see you in the morning."

"Are you sure... I would not wish to impose." Akytol stands.

"Enjoy it." Lorn laughs gently, gesturing for the taller officer to sit down.

"Thank you, ser." Akytol remains standing until Lorn departs.

As he returns to his room, Lorn is glad that he has already made arrangements for shipping all the remaining goods in the small dwelling on the east road from Jakaafra back to Cyad and to Ryalor House-as well as paying Dustyn an extra pair of silvers for two seasons' use of the house.

He also hopes that the lancers of Second Company will not suffer too much before either the Magi'i complete their mysterious project to contain the Accursed Forest or before the Forest kills Akytol. He fears the latter is more likely. Although he does not dislike the big officer whose traditional approach may prove all too convenient for Sub-Majer Hybyl, there is little he can say or do that will change Akytol.

As he lifts the silver volume once more, Lorn smiles, recalling pears and praise. He hopes his brief season in Cyad will be one he can recall and praise. His smiles broadens as he thinks of Ryalth and begins to pack the last of the few items he will carry with him when he leaves with the engineer's firewagon on the morrow.

Will he see the Accursed Forest again? Or will whatever project the Magi'i have in mind render it a memory, its reality changed before he returns-if he returns.

His lips curl into a smile. He will see Ryalth, again, and for a time he had even feared that might not occur.

As Ilryk has said, "One can but count on the wine one drinks today." And it looks as though he and Ryalth will have at least one other day. Beyond that, neither knows.

CXVI

In the front compartment of the firewagon, only Lorn is awake. The Mirror Lancer Majer to his right sleeps, as does the corpulent factor seated across from them. Lorn looks out into the darkness, a clouded darkness deep and lit-only to him-by the hints of chaos escaping from the cells of the six-wheeled vehicle as it rumbles westward across the smooth stones of the Great Eastern Highway toward Cyad-and Ryalth.

Lorn has killed a senior officer. Maran is dead, and Maran should be dead, for Maran would have let lancers die, unwisely and unnecessarily, rather than see Lorn survive. Lorn frowns. Scores of barbarians are dead because of Lorn, and some lancers in Isahl live because Lorn has been effective at killing. Is Cyad worth all the deaths it causes to come to pass-one way or another? Or are Lorn's dreams worth those deaths?

Life without dreams is death, but are Lorn's hopes to lead a better Cyad worth more than Maran's dreams of holding together an old Cyad, or worth more than the barbarians' dreams of bringing it down? Does the best dream win? Or the most powerful dreamer? Or are all dreams merely illusions that crumple in the end upon the Steps to Paradise with the deaths of their dreamers?

And what of Ryalth? Although she knows his dreams, and has helped him in surviving, and in feeling that what he dreams is worthy... with each action he takes, the possible repercussions are greater, and so are the threats to her.

The merchanter across the compartment snores, shifts his weight, and lapses back into heavy breathing.

As the firewagon carries him ever closer to Cyad, Lorn continues to look into the future and the darkness, a darkness lightened by the chaos only he can see-and lightened but dimly for all that.

CXVII

Lorn walks across the Plaza to the wide steps leading up to the topmost level. For the first time, he wears his lancer uniform in the Plaza, and more than a handful of merchanters in blue glance in his direction. He cannot help smiling, half in apprehension, half in anticipation as he nears the steps.

"...overcaptain... don't know him..."

"...don't see many here..."

"Someone's heir... guess..."

With his smile still broad, he climbs the wide steps in the middle of the two wings of the structure, wondering whether to turn right or left at the top, since he only knows that Ryalor House now holds the entire upper level. He turns left, and discovers that all the doors are closed. Retracing his steps to the stairs and past them, he comes to a set of open double doors.

After noting the painted emblem above the open double doors-the intertwined R and L within the inverted triangle-Lorn nods and steps through the doors. Amid the tables and the handful of merchanters in blue, he does not see Ryalth immediately, although there is a closed door that looks to lead to a private study.