Magi'i of Cyador

XXIII

THE OFFICERS’ STUDY at Isahl contains several flat tables that can serve as desks, as well as a good half score of battered armless oak chairs. The polished stone floors are largely covered with worn green wool rugs that take the chill from the stone and muffle the sound of boots. The south windows are high, but large, and on a long table against the smooth stonesof the north wall are eight large strongboxes, each with a cupridium lock. Each has a bronze plate on it with the name of a company. Lorn’s company is Fifth Company, and the bronze key to his lock is fastened inside his green web officer’s belt.

He sits on the opposite side of a table from Captain Zandrey. Zandrey is black-haired, brown-eyed and stocky. Like most lancer officers, he is clean-shaven, but in the afternoon light, his dark beard is beginning to show. “Sub-Majer Brevyl has decided that Nytral will be your company squad leader. Each squad is a score, and there’s a squad leader for each.”

Lorn nods, wondering if it had taken a promotion for Nytral to agree to serve under Lorn. He almost shook his head. Nytral could have been ordered to serve. Was the promotion to encourage Nytral?

“You look skeptical, Lorn.”

“No, ser. I just wondered about Nytral’s promotion.” Lorn tries to make his voice as guileless as possible.

“He was overdue, actually.” Zandrey snort. “Rumor has it that he asked to serve under you, and Brevyl was so surprised that the man volunteered for anything that he promoted him on the spot.”

“He seems to know a lot,” Lorn ventures.

“He does, more than most of the senior squad leaders, but he says what he believes, and some officers and other squad leaders are less than pleased with his attitude.”

“Right now, that’s fine with me.” Lorn nods. “What about the patrol tomorrow? What exactly do we do?”

“Patrol.” The captain laughs. “We’ll ride northward, looking for barbarians or signs that they’ve been around. We might see some, and we might not, but they’ll know we’ve been looking. The one thing that is certain is that when we don’t patrol, there are more raids.”

“Nytral said that the barbarians were mostly after women, weapons, and mounts.”

“He’s mostly right, but they’ll sometimes take children, and sometimes silvers and golds, if a homesteader has any.”

Lorn frowns.

“You wonder why anyone lives out here? Simple. They don’t have any choice. Thieves, swindlers, and people who’ve failed the Empire-if they haven’t killed anyone, they can choose to homestead beyond the great highways for a score of years. Some like it and stay. Others leave, but sometimes they work a deal with someone in Syadtar-turn it over to a younger son or a troublemaker who’s headed for worse. Anyway, we’re here to protect them as well as the towns and cities farther south. Strange, when you think about it … protecting folks who’ve forfeited the Emperor’s justice.” Zandrey shrugs. “Can’t question too much here, or you’ll end up questioning your own mind.”

“Is there anything about the barbarian tactics?”

“Tactics? Most wouldn’t know a tactic if it walked up with a cupridium blade and cut them out of the saddle.”

“That would seem to make them unpredictable.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” replies the captain. “They’re direct-like a big iron hammer. And there is one thing you can count on with the barbarians. They don’t believe in doing anything that’s not honorable.” Zandrey’s words were dry. “In two years here, I’ve never seen an ambush. They don’t attack at night, or in the rain or snow. They ride at you, but they don’t cluster, and they don’t try to pick off officers. They also don’t back off attacking officers. Any Cyadoran is like any other, and they hate us all.”

Lorn wonders why. From what he knows of history, the hatred makes no sense, and that means he doesn’t know enough of history or that the barbarians are irrational. Somehow, he thinks that the history is more suspect than the barbarians’ rationality.

Zandrey stands and stretches. “Go over your squad rosters until you know the names. Last thing you need to be doing on patrol is trying to remember names. It’s hard enough to match names to faces at first.”

Lorn stands and replies. “Yes, ser.”

“And you’ll need to check the firelances in the morning, each one as it’s issued.”

Lorn nods.

“See you at dinner.”

Lorn waits until Zandrey turns before letting an ironic smile cross his face. Are all the outcasts on the northern border? He shakes his head before turning to head toward the stable to check on both his mare and his company’s mounts.