Ikynd turns back toward the door. “One way or another, it won’t be long. The Captain-Commander doesn’t look from hand to hand.” He pauses. “Now that you’ve made me hero,” offers Ikynd, “how long will you dare to leave Inividra and the poor peasants without protection?”
Lorn fingers his chin. “Not long. I have been considering it. I think you should detail a company to stay here, and the rest should return to duty at Inividra, with an experienced captain promoted to overcaptain until the Captain-Commander decides.”
“Besides Sub-Majer Uflet?”
“I doubt that the Sub-Majer will return to Inividra. We’ve heard nothing from Nesmyl.”
“He’s the second senior officer to disappear around you.”
Lorn offers a faint smile. “Just a coincidence, I’m sure. I’ll draft an order for you to promote a captain to overcaptain.”
“I can’t do that.”
“The Code says commanders can make temporary promotions and recommend them to the Captain-Commander. There’s no overcaptain at Inividra anyway.”
Ikynd shrugs. “I had forgotten that. Who do you have in mind?”
“I would have recommended Emsahl, but Gyraet would be a good choice. Or Cheryk.”
“I’d prefer Gyraet, if it’s all the same to you,” suggests Ikynd.
“I’ll talk to them about leaving, and let them know.”
“It would be easier, one way or another, if most were gone before this is resolved,” Ikynd points out.
“You are right about that,” Lorn says.
“I am sometimes,” suggests Ikynd. “Commanders do learn something over the years.”
“You were wrong only in allowing Dettaur his head.” Lorn smiles.
“Was I?” Ikynd lifts his eyebrows. “If you are correct, I will be a hero, and he’ll be disgraced and forgotten, despite your kind words in that letter.”
Lorn bows.
Ikynd returns the bow. “I won’t keep you from meeting with the officers.” He pauses. “I’d like to be able to report that most left after the matter was brought to my attention. It would be better for you as well, either way.”
“I’ll talk to them now.”
Ikynd slips back to his study, and Lorn walks into the corridor and then out through the foyer. He stops just outside the building to let his eyes adjust to the bright sun. As he looks up, a after a few moments, he sees Rhalyt riding toward him.
“Good day, ser,” offers the undercaptain, reining up his mount before Lorn, who recalls that First Company is the duty Company for the afternoon.
“No word yet,” Lorn says easily with a grin, “as I’m sure you know, but we’ll be sending five companies back to Inividra shortly.”
The undercaptain nods. “I thought that might happen.”
“I’m going to talk to the others.”
“Yes, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.
“I think you should be among those to return. You’re only an undercaptain, and could have a fine career. The Majer-Commander is short of experienced lancers and officers, and he’s not about to waste talent and experience.”
“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.
“Thank you,” Lorn says with a smile, before turning and walking across the sun-splashed main courtyard toward the north barracks and the shadowed courtyard where he has ordered his captains to drill the men in sabres.
As he steps past the corner of the barracks, the order rings out, “Stand down!”
The three captains walk quickly toward Lorn, who waits until they have gathered around him. “There’s nothing new. Not right now. I’ve been thinking things over. We’ve done what we can do here,” Lorn says slowly. “The Majer-Commander and the Emperor know what they need to know. I’ll need one company to remain here for a while, but it’s time for the other five to return to Inividra… before the barbarians resume their raids. For the company to stay here, Commander Ikynd will sign the orders… but I’d prefer a volunteer.”
Esfayl grins. “Well… my sister does live in the hamlet next from Assyadt.” He looks at Cheryk and then at Gyraet.
“You can have it.” Cheryk looks at Lorn. “What of you, ser?”
“We’ve either gotten the Majer-Commander to see the problem with the traders, or we haven’t. I’ll be staying here to see what happens. The commander will appoint a temporary overcaptain for Inividra. The outpost has been short one, anyway.”
“Best be one of us,” suggests Esfayl. “One of you two.”
“The commander would prefer Gyraet,” Lorn says, looking at Cheryk. “It could be either of you two.”
Cheryk nods. “Not that I wouldn’t like the rank, but Gyraet’d be better for now.”
Gyraet flushes. “I have not been at Inividra long.”
“You’ll do,” says Cheryk. “And you have to write all the reports.”
“Ser…” Gyraet begins. “This… I did not…”
“I know.” Lorn looks at Gyraet. “I hope you can handle it. I think it’s better this way, and I think you two and Rhalyt need to prepare to leave first thing in the morning. I’ll arrange for as many firelances as I can find for you. I’ve already drafted and the commander has signed a request for replacement officers. There will be raids by late summer, I think. Not much before, and they’ll be small raids on isolated hamlets. So you will need to go back to one-company patrols.” Lorn grins. “I’m not saying that to make the commander happy. If nothing happens, by a year or two from now, you may need to resume larger patrols, but I don’t think the barbarians have enough men for large raids now.”
“I’ll wager they don’t,” says Esfayl.
“You’ll have to rotate taking Second and Fifth Companies,” Lorn says, “until you get the replacement officers.”
“We’ve done worse, and there won’t be raids for a time,” Cheryk says. “Are you sure matters here are settled?”
“As settled as we can make them.” Lorn shrugs. “And I wouldn’t want any peasants-or lancers-to suffer. If everyone is under proper orders, then I doubt there will be many problems.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I’ll make sure you all have orders by this evening.”
As he turns and recrosses the courtyard, he hears the low voices.
“…doesn’t look good…”
“…always looked out for his men…”
“…angel-fire few officers like that…”
Lorn has no more than returned to the study and reseated himself at the desk he occupies when there is a knock on the door, and a squad leader- Gryal-peers in.
“Ser?”
“Come on in.”
Gryal steps forward and hands Lorn a scroll, one with a blue seal and bound in a blue ribbon. “This came in for you with the couriers. Thought you ought to get it personal.”
“Thank you. I suspect it’s from my consort. Her earlier scrolls never reached Inividra.”
“There was word about that…”
“Were there any other dispatches?”
“No, ser. But word is that you get everything first.” Gryal grins. “Way it ought to be.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem, ser. The squad leader bows and backs out.
Lorn lifts the scroll, then breaks the seal and begins to read.
My dearest lancer,
I have received the first scroll from you in seasons, but I knew, as you know, that you care, and now I know why there were no scrolls.
Jerial says that she is not surprised by your former classmate, nor am I surprised at what you discovered in Jera, or that you have found yourself in Assyadt. In my own poor way, I have passed on the information you have sent, and spoken, if briefly, to Vyanat’mer. He already knew and had read your official report, and he appreciated that you had seen fit to inform him so that he was not surprised in meeting with His Mightiness.
I do not know what will come of your actions and report. Much is in turmoil here, with your family, as you know…
/> Lorn swallows. His family? His parents? Myryan? It could not be Jerial. Later, when he is truly alone, he will have to search with the chaos-glass.
…and with the death of the Hand of the Emperor. No one knows who the Hand was, as always, but word of his death still did get out. The Emperor himself was ailing for a time. So no one knows about many matters and may not for several days yet, and it may take longer for you to find out.
Whatever may happen, I love you and know that you have done the best you could, with your destiny and your talents, and we hope you will be safe and in Cyad before too long.
Lorn looks at the scroll. Safe and in Cyad? Those two do not go together. That he knows all too well.
He takes a deep breath. He needs to draft the orders for the five companies and their lancers. That is one problem he can resolve… and one he should have handled earlier, or at least considered before he did.
LXXVII
In the darkness and quiet of the quarters for visiting senior officers, Lorn sets the chaos-glass on the narrow desk. He takes a long slow breath, and then concentrates. The silver mists fill the glass, then swirl and finally part. But the glass is blank, an opaque and silvered shimmering blankness.
He lets go of the image he has sought, and tries a second time, this time thinking about his mother, about the conversation that they had had on the portico in a cold wind so many years before. But once more, the mists reveal only the silver blankness.
Lorn can feel the perspiration on his forehead, despite the warmth of the late-spring evening. For a time longer, he sits in the dimness, wondering if he has lost the ability to control the image in the glass, because of his fears or the strains upon him.
Then he tries again, and this time the mists reveal Ryalth and Kerial- asleep on the ornate bed. Ryalth turns, as if restlessly, and Lorn releases the image, reluctantly, but glad that she and Kerial appear well.
He tries once more for the first image… and is rewarded again with the silvered blankness that fills the circular glass. When he stops concentrating and the glass clears, his eyes burn. That blankness must mean that his parents are dead, and they have been dead for at least a time, because of the tone of Ryalth’s letter. She had written as if their deaths had occurred eightdays in the past.
That is yet another reason for Dettaur’s death-except Lorn almost wishes he had made Dettaur’s end far more painful. Why had Dettaur been so petty? He still could have sought to discredit Lorn without such smallness.
Lorn shakes his head. Even as he understands, he does not.
Finally, in the dimness of the single oil lamp, he picks up the silver-covered book, leafing through it until his eyes find a verse.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust…
Chaos to order and back to flame
Brings back no songs without name…
Except… except Lorn will remember, remember words of concern, words of advice, guidance he had not known his parents had even exerted or offered.
He looks sightlessly into the darkness.
LXXVIII
Lorn looks out into the gray late afternoon. While it has rained earlier, the clouds have lifted some, and the heavy rain has subsided into a light mist. A fog rises from the stones of the courtyard.
Three days earlier, Gyraet and five of the six lancer companies from Inividra had left on their return. The officers had been both concerned about Lorn and relieved to be heading back. Lorn can understand both sets of feelings, and remains grateful for their concern. Surprisingly, at least to Lorn, after all those chill touches on the Jeran campaign, he has not felt the touch of a single chaos-glass. Does that mean that the Majer-Commander does not trust the Magi’i in dealing with Lorn? Lorn is not certain whether that is to his benefit or not. His eyes take in the gray clouds once more. Is the delay because of the delicate situation with the Emperor? Or because the Captain-Commander or the Majer-Commander is gathering Mirror Lancer companies to send to Assyadt? That would seem unlikely, yet Dettaur’s pettiness in destroying personal scrolls to Lorn also had been unlikely, for such destruction had done nothing to advance Dettaur.
Lorn shakes his head, reminding himself that he has certainly not been above pettiness.
Thrap. The worried sub-majer’s head snaps up at the knock. “Yes? Come in.”
“Majer… ?” Esfayl steps into the study with a lancer.
The lancer, who bears the green braid of a special messenger from the Majer-Commander, carries a dispatch pack and glances nervously from Lorn to the dark-haired captain, and then back to Lorn.
“He just got here from Cyad,” Esfayl explains. “I thought he ought to see you first. He has dispatches from the Majer-Commander.”
“Ser, there are two for you, but one is for Commander Ikynd.”
Lorn looks at Esfayl. “Is the commander in his study?”
“I think so.”
“We’ll all go there. That might be best.” Lorn smiles wryly. “I could be wrong, but if the Majer-Commander is sending two scrolls to me, then I can hope for the best.”
A puzzled look crosses the messenger’s face, but Lorn does not elaborate as he stands and steps toward the door. “Come on.”
The messenger follows Lorn across the corridor and into the second study.
Lorn nods to the messenger. “That’s Commander Ikynd. He can read his scroll first.”
The messenger steps forward and hands one scroll to Ikynd, then steps back and hands two to Lorn. He eases back beside Esfayl by the half-open study door.
“You aren’t reading them all first?” asks Ikynd.
“That one is for you.”
“They’re sending you somewhere else.” Ikynd laughs. “Otherwise, there would have been companies of lancers here.”
“Unless they’re insisting I take Dettaur’s place,” Lorn suggests.
“I could do worse,” the commander says dryly. “You actually ask what I think.” He breaks the seal and begins to scan the lines, then looks up. “You can read yours, Sub-Majer. I won’t spoil the surprise.” A look of both ruefulness and interest appears on his face.
Lorn opens the first scroll. The message is brief, curt.
Sub-Majer Lorn, Mirror Lancers, Assyadt/Inividra,
You are hereby detached from your present assignment immediately upon receipt of these orders and ordered to report to the Majer-Commander, Cyad, personally, for assignment at his discretion.
The only unusual feature is that the orders are signed and sealed by Rynst, the Majer-Commander, himself. Lorn opens the second scroll.
Sub-Majer Lorn, Mirror Lancers, Commanding, Inividra,
This is to commend you for your actions in undertaking a campaign to ensure the safety of the northern borders of Cyador, the Empire of Eternal Light. Your actions in destroying barbarian staging areas and confiscating and destroying large quantities of Hamorian-forged blades have resulted in the saving of untold lives of the Mirror Lancers and in resolving a potentially serious situation before it could worsen. Your immediate superior, Commander Ikynd, will also be commended by separate notice, for his wisdom in allowing you the latitude necessary to undertake this dangerous campaign. A copy of this commendation has been placed in your file at Mirror Lancer headquarters.
The second scroll is also signed by Rynst.
Esfayl looks from Lorn to Ikynd and back again.
“It’s all right,” Lorn finally says. “The commander and I have been commended, and I’m being transferred to Mirror Lancer headquarters in Cyad.”
“Congratulations, sers,” says Esfayl.
“I think you’ll probably be leaving tomorrow, when I do,” Lorn tells the young captain, then looks at Ikynd, “if you agree, Commander.”
“He can take the provisions wagons an eightday early,” Ikynd says.
Lorn nods toward the door. “The commander and I have a few matters to discuss.”
“Ah… yes, ser.”
Both the lancer messenger and Esfayl step out of the commander’s study. Esfa
yl closes the door behind him.
“You know what that commendation says, don’t you?” Ikynd’s genial tone returns.
“I’d assume that it says that you authorized me to undertake a dangerous and foolhardy campaign, on the verge of breaking every Mirror Lancer regulation, but that, since it was successful beyond anyone’s expectations, we are to be commended-and watched most carefully in the future. That’s why I’m going to Cyad to report to the Majer-Commander personally.”
“That is the way I would read it.” Ikynd shrugs. “It doesn’t matter much to me. They’d never have promoted me again anyway, and I’ve but one tour left after this before I can get a pension-stipend. Rynst doesn’t know what to do with you, but you’re too valuable to have killed, and too dangerous to let loose for a while. I’d guess he wants you around him, the way some men want trained giant cats.”
Lorn smiles wryly. “So that everyone watches me, instead of him?”
“Something like that.” Ikynd tilts his head. “Dettaur was dangerous because he was too self-centered, you know?”
“I know. If he’d been successful in getting me and my lancers killed, he would have found himself before a discipline hearing-or something would have happened to him.”
“Now… I’m short something like four officers.” Ikynd smiles ruefully. “I’ll have to draft my own orders.”
“You’ll have four more officers within the eightday. With the moving of the lancers out of the Accursed Forest posts, headquarters will be happy to have openings for a majer, sub-majer, and two captains or undercaptains.” Lorn adds, “And they’ll all be good, traditional lancer officers.”
Ikynd nods. “We could use more tradition for a while.”
Lorn steps toward the door. “By your leave, Commander?”
“I appreciate the courtesy, Sub-Majer.” Ikynd shakes his head as Lorn steps out and closes the door behind him.
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