Scion of Cyador

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Ah… something like that.” Gyraet tries not to shift his weight in the chair, and his eyes do not meet Lorn’s.

  “I could be most charming and welcoming,” Lorn goes on, “and mislead you, and cast doubts about the characterizations that have been made. I don’t think I will, because you’re obviously perceptive, and feel you’re in a most difficult situation, being assigned to command a company under the Butcher of Nhais.” He smiles. “Have you read the battle report about Nhais?”

  “Ah… no, ser.”

  Lorn walks to the end chest, which he opens, and from which he extracts one of the copies he has brought to Inividra with him. He closes the chest and then tenders the report to Gyraet. “Read it. Now. I’ll wait.”

  “Yes, ser.” Gyraet doesn’t conceal his puzzlement, but takes the report.

  As Gyraet begins to read, Lorn scans Dettaur’s scroll again, then sets it aside and glances toward the window. While his old acquaintance’s tone bothers Lorn, he has to ask himself whether Dettaur is so bent on revenge that he will take any opportunity to goad Lorn, or whether his missives are designed to push Lorn into early and unwise action.

  Lorn frowns. Dettaur certainly had been unable to see Jerial’s disgust with him, but bright enough to understand exactly how Lorn had managed the Biehl situation. Then, Lorn reflects, does he have any choice but earlier action when firelance charges are becoming ever scarcer and the numbers of barbarian raiders growing?

  “Ser?”

  Lorn glances up. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” He pauses. “You’ve finished it?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “As you can see, many of the details of the report were authenticated by others, including various officers and enumerators. I wanted you to read it so that you would have some idea of what is happening north of the Grass Hills and why you’ve been assigned here.”

  “Majer Dettaur did not mention the Hamorian blades.”

  “He probably didn’t mention the fivescore herders and women and children they slaughtered, either.”

  “Ah… no, ser.”

  “And I doubt he mentioned that we usually have plenty of spare mounts here-close to twoscore at the moment.”

  “No, ser.”

  Lorn smiles once more, then nods. “That’s all for now, Captain. You might want to talk to the other officers, especially the more senior ones. I’m sure each has his own view of matters.” He stands. “I’ll see you shortly, at dinner.”

  “Yes, ser.” Gyraet stands, then bows before he departs.

  Lorn walks to the study window and looks out at the intermittent fat flakes that drift by the ancient panes of glass.

  Did the ancients have to deal with the same kind of infighting? Or had they pulled together more because they had been required to in carving a land out of the wilderness and in fighting against the Accursed Forest?

  Somehow, Lorn suspects that what he sees in the Mirror Lancers, and with Dettaur, is scarcely new. The melancholy tone of the silver volume of ancient verse attests to that.

  And yet… the melancholy ancient was one of those who built the City of Light, of which there is no equal.

  LVIII

  Lorn watches from the study window as two provisions wagons roll through the light rain and across the courtyard to the storerooms beside the stables. With the rain, he is glad that he has not dispatched any patrols. While the snow beyond the Grass Hills is melting, his use of the chaos-glass has shown Lorn that the barbarians remain within their hamlets and that they have not yet begun to gather.

  Unhappily, the unknown magus or Magi’i continue to follow him, clearly trying to determine what he is doing. Also unhappily, more traders have docked at Jera, and more Hamorian blades have been unloaded and stored in the warehouses there. Before long, the blades will make their way up the branches of the River Jeryna to an even greater number of barbarians.

  Lorn turns, frowning, as there is a knock on his study door. “Yes?”

  “Ser… there is a dispatch.” Nesmyl bows, then extends the scroll.

  “Thank you.” Lorn nods and takes it.

  As he leaves the study, Nesmyl closes the door. Lorn breaks the green lancer seal and begins to read.

  Sub-Majer Lorn, Mirror Lancers, Commanding at Inividra,

  Winter is about to end, and at the turn of spring, you can anticipate an increased number of barbarian raids. Commander Ikynd wishes to convey once more his concerns about the tactics you have used in the past. He would emphasize that regular single-company patrols are to be used. Multi-company patrols offer far too great a risk of allowing the barbarians to attack an unpatrolled area, especially now.

  Furthermore, your field expertise will be needed, and therefore you are strongly urged to take command of the company of your choice, preferably one commanded by an undercaptain. In such circumstances, it should be noted that using multi-company patrols might be seen as preferential treatment for those lancers you command personally, and this is another reason why multi-company patrols should be minimized…

  Assyadt has yet to receive additional mounts to support those companies transferred from the Accursed Forest. Large losses of mounts, as may occur with patrols involving more than one company, cannot be replaced…

  These are trying times for all Mirror Lancers, and their commanding officers should and must rely on the practices and tactics that have served so well for so long, and to that end Commander Ikynd strongly urges that you turn your energies and talents.

  For Commander Ikynd

  Majer Dettaur

  Assistant Commander, Assyadt

  Lorn sets down the scroll and walks to the window once more, looking into the gray day and drizzle for a time. Finally, he turns and crosses back to the door where he peers out. Nesmyl glances up.

  “Nesmyl… if you would send word for the officers to gather in the officers’ study… I’d like to meet with them there.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lorn turns back to the study, and walks to the footchest against the wall that holds dispatches and other communications to the outpost, generally from Assyadt, but at times from Mirror Lancer headquarters in Cyad. He begins to sort through the dispatches, pulling some, leaving others, until he has close to a halfscore. He arranges them, then rolls them up, with the latest scroll from Dettaur around them.

  He nods, hoping his instincts are correct. Finally, he tucks the scrolls under his arm and steps from the study.

  “They should be ready, ser.” Nesmyl is standing by the desk with Yusaet beside him. The more-junior senior squad leader had either been the one to convey the message, or to hold the desk while Nesmyl did. “Thank you, Nesmyl. Or you, Yusaet, whoever passed the word.”

  “Thank you, ser.” Yusaet bows.

  “…got that cold look… wouldn’t want to be whoever’s he angry with…”

  Lorn takes a breath as he leaves the square tower. He doesn’t need to show his anger with Dettaur to the officers. The drizzle seeps around him as he crosses the courtyard to the barracks building that holds the officers’ study. Under his arm is the large roll of scrolls.

  As he enters the officers’ study, Lorn looks at the six officers who rise from where they have been sitting around two adjoining tables. “Please sit down.”

  He looks around the room as he unrolls the scrolls and sets the pile before him. He realizes he is wagering much on what he is about to do, but he needs to know how they will react. After a long moment of silence, he says, “Most of you have asked about the patrol schedule for the spring. For the moment, I’m not going to post one.”

  He waits again, noting the faint frown on Quytyl’s face, and the eyebrows that Esfayl raises momentarily. “Instead, I’d like to read you all something.” He pauses. “These are all dispatches I have received from Assyadt over the past several eightdays.” He picks up the first scroll.

  We regret to inform you that you can expect no more than three firelance recharges, as the Commander
has conveyed earlier in the year…

  Then he reads from the second.

  We cannot supply any spare mounts, and will not be able to do so until at least sometime in late spring or early summer…

  And the third.

  We must also insist that you refrain from the practice of using multi-company patrols. Mirror Lancers must be able to take on significantly larger barbarian forces without needing to rely on additional lancers…

  Emsahl snorts… loudly.

  Lorn picks up the last scroll and reads.

  Further, it is most strongly suggested that you relieve your least effective company commander and take personal command of that company…

  Lorn waits, letting the words sink in before he speaks again. “Those all came over the course of the winter. This morning, I received yet another such scroll, which repeats all of those messages and adds another. I’d like to read that as well.” Lorn clears his throat and reads Dettaur’s latest scroll in its entirety. As he reads, he surveys the room, and from what he can sense, most of the officers are disturbed.

  As he finishes reading the last scroll, Lorn sets it down on the table before him. He looks across the six faces, again studying them before he speaks. “I’ll leave these here for each of you to read so that you can see for yourself that I have not made up or distorted the language.” He pauses and lets the silence draw out. The room remains still for a long time.

  “Ser… were those all from either Majer Dettaur or Commander Ikynd?” asks Esfayl.

  Lorn nods.

  “We lost fewer lancers last fall than any time since I’ve been here,” Emsahl says slowly. “And you tell us that-”

  “No. I’m not saying that. Those were dispatches from Majer Dettaur on behalf of Commander Ikynd.”

  “Never was much of a patrol commander…” suggests the normally silent Cheryk. “Worse than Sasyk, and he was a sour pearapple…”

  Gyraet’s eyebrows lift.

  “Well, he wasn’t. He’d always take on the biggest barbarian, and forget about the rest of the lancers.”

  Lorn clears his throat, loudly. Cheryk’s words will be more effective later, when Lorn is not around. “I wanted you all to know the kind of suggestions I’ve been receiving.” He smiles. “I’d like you all to consider that I have not yet been forbidden to use multi-company patrols. And I have not been ordered to relieve one of you. ‘Strongly recommended,’ but not ordered.”

  “It sounds like that won’t be long,” suggests Emsahl.

  “If we keep doing things the way we have been, I’m sure that’s true. If each of you patrols by yourself, we’re going to take some heavy losses.” Lorn pauses.

  Emsahl smiles. “I’m thinking, ser, that you got an idea. Elsewise, you wouldn’t be having us here.”

  “I do.” Lorn nods. “It’s something different. Commander Ikynd told me we could go where we wanted once we were in Jeranyi territory. I think it might be a good idea to put a stop to some of these raids where they ought to be stopped-over in Jerans-and I believe we can do it. We’ll have to do it before I get any more dispatches.” Lorn lifts the most recent scroll. “I got this one today, and it will probably be two eightdays before we’re sent any more provisions, and dispatches.”

  “You’re thinking of going into Jerans?” asks Gyraet.

  Lorn nods. “We had better odds when I tracked down the raiders in Biehl and hit them when they didn’t expect it. If we wait… they’ll just gather more and more barbarians.”

  “Pretty risky…” offers Gyraet.

  “Not so risky as fighting eightscore with one company,” suggests Cheryk. “That’s what it’s coming to, these days, if the sub-majer follows those directives.”

  “What if they attack here?” asks Esfayl.

  “That’s a good question.” Lorn smiles. “But if we strike first, what barbarian will dare leave his homeland to attack Cyador while we white devils are in Jerans?”

  “No… they’d not be doing that,” affirms Emsahl. After a moment, he grins. “When do we start, Majer?”

  “How about next twoday?” Lorn smiles grimly.

  LIX

  In the glow of his quarters’ study lamp, Lorn looks over the maps yet again, checking the routes, the planned stops, the possible points of conflict-and the places that must be destroyed. He has not told any of the captains his exact plans, only that an unnamed town on the South Branch of the River Jeryna is their first goal. That much is true, for it is one of the towns where the raiders gather, and not all have yet gathered, but enough have, and so have their mounts.

  Slowly, he puts the maps in the order he wishes, then rolls them up and ties them into a single bundle.

  Tomorrow all six companies of Mirror Lancers will pull out of Inividra, something that has never been done before. So far as the stories and the records tell, no one has ever combined more than two companies of Mirror Lancers in making an attack, not in recent generations.

  His lips curl. He may find out why that is so, but he can only do what he feels is best, for the older tactics are less and less effective, and the chaos-towers are failing. And Lorn, child of Cyad, will not stand and watch.

  He laughs softly, mirthlessly. He also has no real choices, for to follow Dettaur’s instructions will mean either death or disgrace in slow increments, for Dett is most excellent in political maneuverings-far, far better than Lorn.

  In the darkness, Lorn takes out the chaos-glass and sets it on the desk before him. His head still aches slightly from the use of the glass in the late afternoon, but he would see Ryalth and Kerial a last time before he casts his fate to chaos.

  When the silver mists part, he watches the sleeping pair only for a few moments before he releases the image. He would not disturb their sleep.

  While the chaos-glass will be in its wooden case in his saddlebags, he doubts he will have either the time or privacy to use it-but for an extended campaign he dares not leave it behind, either, not with Dettaur watching everything he does.

  There is one more thing that will accompany him-Ryalth’s ancient silver-covered book. He holds the volume for a time before opening it, wondering not for the first time how her mother came to have it, and whether it means, as he believes, that she is nearly as much of a child of the Magi’i as he is. He laughs, softly, for the Magi’i will claim neither of them.

  Then he pages through to see if any of the ancient verses call up echoes of what he feels, looking out at darkness and an uncertain future. He finds one, whose words strike him in a different way, as they often do, when his choices and circumstances have changed. He reads aloud, softly, to himself.

  We stand in a world we did not know, reaping lives and deaths we did not sow. Some reach for roses of another place, a world beyond chaos in time and space. Some raise copper blades, strangely graced, to destroy new truths that cannot be faced.

  Chaos is, as the river and the hills, and I will live my life as chaos wills, for Mirror Towers have fallen from the skies, and venerated truths become but lies when held as orders from our ill-starred past, talismans to recall what cannot last.

  To build what must be built, and raise new halls, to guard what must be held in shining walls, to slay the demons of unreasoning hate- all those, and more, have come to be my fate.

  Do I regret the stars that cast me here? No more than knowing life is fragile, dear and fleeting, or that my words die unread, for words cannot contain what souls have said.

  “ ‘Words cannot contain what souls have said…’ ” Lorn muses, nodding to himself.

  His eyes drift back up to another phrase-“demons of unreasoning hate.” There are so many who hate so fiercely that it is beyond reason, from the barbarians to Dettaur to those Lorn does not even know. The ancient writer had said his fate was to slay such. But the other poems had revealed the man’s sensitivity-and Lorn is not unaware of the irony of slaying demons of hate. Where each demon is slain, more hate is raised, yet hate unchecked also multiplies, and love alone will not brook
hatred that holds a blade.

  “So you will raise a greater blade?” Yet he has searched and can find no other choices, not that are open to him, in this world, at this time, for doing what others will is death indeed. And doing what others will is not the way to save Cyad so that what it stands for will continue to shine out. He finds another page and reads the concluding stanza.

  Merage, altage, elthage, all bow to thee,

  from Rational unity come these three,

  and neither chaos, nor the lance, nor gold

  shall seize this city of the stars foretold,

  for Cyad holds the fate of all this earth,

  and all of soul and skill that is of worth.

  So shine forth both in sun and into night

  bright city of prosperity and light.

  He looks into the darkness for a long time before he stands and then walks to his bedchamber where he places both the silver-covered book and the chaos-glass in the saddlebags he will carry in the morning.

  LX

  With his saddlebags over his left shoulder, Brystan sabre at his belt, lancer sabre and map scrolls in his left hand, Lorn looks at Nesmyl. “You have a half-squad, and the cooks and other staff. I wish it could be more, but we will need every man.”

  “Many be the lancers who would have given much to see what I see, ser. It be long past time that the raiders be bearded in their lands. I’d almost be wishing I be with you, ser,” replies the slightly bent senior lancer. His smile is crooked. “Almost.”

  “Times have changed, Nesmyl, and we must change with them.” Lorn gestures toward the study. “If Majer Dettaur should arrive here, not that I expect him, you can tell him that, in accord with his wishes, I have all the companies on patrol in order to better protect the lands and people of Cyador.”