Magi'i of Cyador

CIV

IN THE CLEAR gray light preceding dawn, Lorn and Ryalth ride side by side on the perimeter road to the southwest, toward Fyrad and Cyad, and away from Jakaafra. Behind them ride Eileyt and Usylt, the guard.

The air is still, and frost has settled on the deadland, and on the winter-gray trees to their right, well out beyond the deadland. Lorn wears his winter jacket over his duty uniform, as well as the winter garrison cap. Ryalth wears her vest under the heavy blue woolen cloak. Faint puffs of steam indicate their breathing.

Lorn glances to his left, at the glow of the sun about to rise from behind the ward-wall and the Accursed Forest. Somehow, the days of Lorn’s furlough have raced by until none are left, and he and Ryalth must return to their duties.

“You have the scrolls?” he looks at Ryalth, taking in the red hair, the light freckles and the deep blue eyes he will miss more than he had ever thought. “And you will send them by private messenger?”

“We agreed on that.” Her lips curl into a smile that is both ironic and resigned, yet warm and accepting.

He laughs once, gently. “You will take care on the ride to the Great Canal?”

“We will, and I will send you a scroll when I reach Cyad.” She smiles softly. “You need to get back. I would not have you fail to be where you must be.”

Lorn reaches out and takes her gloved hand in his as they ride side by side. “I dislike parting, especially now.”

“I will visit as I can,” she promises. “But you need to go.”

Lorn nods. “Take care.” He gives her hand a last squeeze, then releases it.

“I will.” Her smile is sad.

Lorn eases the gelding to the edge of the road, where he watches as the three ride southwest. Ryalth looks back severaltimes. Finally, he turns the gelding and starts back toward the compound. He has not ridden two hundred cubits when he looks back over his shoulder. Ryalth is looking at him, as well, and he raises his arm. After a time, they both look away.

Lorn continues slowly back along the perimeter road, and the orangish light of dawn floods up from behind the ward-wall and the green canopy of the Accursed Forest. He studies the unseen darkness that is all too real, and wonders how the coming Patrol will fare.

Shortly, he eases the white gelding past the duty guards and through the compound gates, his eyes checking the courtyard, noting that both Kusyl and Shynt have begun to muster their squads outside the quarters building.

He dismounts outside the stable and leads the gelding inside.

Suforis hurries up. “Ser, you’d not be going on Patrol today?”

“Tomorrow. That’s soon enough.” Lorn extends his mount’s reins to the blond ostler, then unfastens his gear from behind the saddle.

“She be a lovely lady, ser,” Suforis observes, as he takes the gelding’s reins from Lorn. “Though I was surprised that Dustyn asked me’n Lesyna to the festivities.”

“We were glad you were there.” Lorn laughs, almost ruefully. “You two and Dustyn were the only people I really knew.” He shifts his grip on his gear, then nods to Suforis. “I’d best be getting where I should be.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn walks briskly to the quarters building, stopping but long enough to drop his gear bag in his duty quarters, and then returns to the courtyard to see Kusyl, waiting before the formed up second squad.

“Ser.” Kusyl bows as Lorn approaches.

“Squad leader.”

“Halfscore and four, ser. One missing, ser.”

“Very good, Kusyl. You may dismiss them to their duties. We will inspect all blades and gear before the noon meal.Once they are working on their gear, I’d like to meet in the outer study.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn nods and heads to the first squad.

“Ser, halfscore and five, ser. All present,” Shynt announces.

“Very good, squad leader. You may dismiss them to their duties. We will inspect all blades and gear before the noon meal. Kusyl and you and I will meet in the outer study once they’re working on their blades and gear.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn turns and heads for the study, hoping that there are no scrolls or messages bearing ill news. There, the door has been unlocked, doubtless by Kusyl, but the outer desk is bare. He opens the door to the inner study, but his desk is equally bare.

For some reason, that disturbs him more, he feels, than would have scathing scrolls from either Majer Maran or Commander Meylyd. Slowly, he takes off his garrison cap and hangs it on one of the wall pegs, then doffs the winter jacket.

Tomorrow, Second Company will resume its patrols, and Lorn has few doubts that the struggles with the Accursed Forest will continue.