Magi'i of Cyador

LXI

AS THE CARRIAGE driver reins up the two horses, Lorn glances at the twin pillared sunstone gates spaced wide enough for three carriages abreast, then at the white oak gates themselves, oiled and polished, but clearly ancient from their deep golden color. Two Mirror Lancer guards stand before each of the ten-cubit-high pillars that hold the gates, and the gates themselves are swung back into the compound, a sure indicator that they had not been built to withstand a true siege.

“We stop at the gate, sers,” announces the driver of the open-topped carriage. “Be four for the two of you.”

“Thank you.” Lorn hands over five coppers, then opens the half-door, careful to swing his sabre clear, and then stepping down to and walking across the granite paving stones to the open luggage rack on the back where he pulls out his two green bags. He looks down, not quite sure why. While the paving stones are smooth and clean, as are all paving stones in Cyador, these bear traceries of fine hairline cracks.

“Ser … I could pay my own-” begins the undercaptain, reaching for his single bag.

“You could, Nythras, but consider it a favor that you’ll repay when you’re a captain,” replies Lorn with a smile.

“Thank you, ser.”

Neither of the guards looks directly at the two officers as they walk through the gates. Inside, Lorn pauses, glancing northward at the proliferation of one- and two-storied white granite structures inside the square of walls that stretch a good kay or more on a side. The compound at Geliendra is twice the size of the one at Syadtar … if not more.

The undercaptain glances sideways at Lorn.

Lorn offers a wry smile. “This is a new station for me, too, Nythras.”

Although it is almost exactly midwinter, the air is warm,as warm as late spring in Isahl, and damp, as damp as the sea air coming off the harbor in Cyad. Lorn takes a slow breath, trying to identify the muted fragrances and odors, a melange of scents that partakes of frysia, the decomposition of stable straw, and other floral scents new to him.

Lorn studies the layout for but a moment, then walks directly toward the large whitened granite building before them. While he can see officers and Lancer rankers entering and leaving the buildings farther to the north, there are none entering or leaving the nearest. He ducks inside the archway of the first building, glancing toward the junior squad leader who sits at a narrow table in the foyer at the end of a short corridor, much as Kielt had done at Isahl.

The squad leader looks up. “Captain, ser?”

“Captain Lorn. I’m reporting in. Is this the Commander’s headquarters?”

“Ah … yes, ser.”

“Where should I report?”

“The third building back, ser, the second archway.”

“Thank you.” Lorn smiles and steps back outside. In the damp and warm air of Geliendra, especially in his winterweight uniform and under the direct sun, he is beginning to sweat. “Third building,” he tells the undercaptain.

“You didn’t think it was that one, did you?”

“No. But it’s faster to ask than try them all.” Lorn grins. “You only look uninformed once that way.”

Lorn leads the way to and then into the front archway into the third building back, a low one-story granite-walled structure that, for all its cleanliness and spare lines, still radiates age. A heavy-set squad leader, one of the most rotund lancers Lorn has ever beheld, bulges over the wide table that holds a dozen wooden boxes, each filled with stacks of paper. He looks up as the two officers appear.

“This is where we report?” Lorn asks.

“Yes, ser.” The squad leader’s voice is a mellow tenor.

“Captain Lorn, reporting, squad leader.” Lorn offers an easy smile along with the words.

“Undercaptain Nythras,” the black-haired junior officer adds.

Lorn shows his seal ring, then proffers his orders. Nythras follows the captain’s example.

“Squad Leader Kulurt, sers.” The heavy-set lancer nods politely and scans the two scrolls before speaking again. “Captain Lorn …” The squad leader nods as he speaks, and his jowls quiver. “Commander Meylyd has been expecting you, and asked me to let him know as soon as you arrived. If you would wait for a moment …”

Lorn nods.

Kulurt heaves himself out of the white oak chair, nods again to the two officers, lumbers down the corridor directly behind his table.

Nythras glances at Lorn. “They know who you are.”

Lorn doubts that is for the best. “They know who you are also. You’ll see.”

Kulurt returns almost immediately, breathing slightly heavily. “Undercaptain Nythras, the Commander will see you after he finishes with Captain Lorn,” Kulurt explains to the more junior officer before gesturing to the corridor. “The Commander’s study is the first door on the left, Captain Lorn.”

“Thank you.” Lorn leaves his gear against the wall and slips around the squad leader. The study door is open, and he steps inside. The study is roughly fifteen cubits square and contains little beside the desk and the chair behind it, a single chest-high bookcase to the right of the desk, and five armless chairs set out in a semicircle facing the desk. On the wall facing the door, two large windows, their panes and shutters open, admit both light and a pleasant breeze. All the furniture is of white oak, burnished by time into a deep gold. On the desk are three boxes filled with papers, an inkwell, and a pen holder. Fastened on the wall behind the commander’s desk is a green-bordered wall hanging. Inside the border are four stylized golden towers set in a diamond pattern. Four narrow lightning bolts connect the towers, and within. the lightning-bolt-enclosed diamond is the black outlineof a single leafless tree-a tree with four gnarled branches twisting up and out from the trunk. The tips of the branches curve back from the lightning bolts.

Commander Meylyd is standing behind the polished golden surface of his table desk as Lorn enters and bows.

“Captain Lorn, ser.”

The tall and slender commander offers a warm smile, with both his eyes and mouth. “Captain Lorn … it’s good that you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be here, ser.”

“After spending all that time on a firewagon, I’m sure you are.” Meylyd responds, gesturing to the chairs before his desk and reseating himself. “I take it that your trip from Cyad was unremarkable.”

“Just long.” Lorn takes the chair on the left end, the one closest to the window.

“That’s the way the patrols are here-most of the time.” Meylyd nods, leaning back in the wooden armchair. He tightens his lips for a moment. “What do you know about what we do … or about the Accursed Forest?”

“Well, ser, I know that the Accursed Forest is a remnant of the wild order that once spread across all of Candar before the Firstborn. They pushed it back and confined it behind warded walls. One hears reports that at times it breaks free of those wards and must be pushed back within the boundaries.” Lorn shrugs. “I understand that the Lancers patrol the walls and support the Magi’i and Mirror Engineers in bringing the wild order of the Forest back within the wards.”

“That is in fact the basis of what we do here. You understand better than many, as might be expected from an officer raised in the City of Light.” Meylyd purses his lips once more, leaning forward in his chair. “You’ll be in charge of the Second Company in Jakaafra, Captain Lorn. There are two companies there on the north side. You and your company will patrol the northeast wall to make sure that the Forest remains within the wards. First Company patrols the towns outside the northwest wall.” The commander stands. “It’s good to meet you.” He nods toward the door. “MajerMaran will brief you on the specifics. He’s in direct command of all the surveillance patrols. He’s expecting you. The next door down.”

“Yes, ser.” Lorn stands quickly.

“I hear you are most capable, and this is a time when that experience will be valuable. If there is anything you need or think I should know, please let Majer Maran or me know.” The commander smiles warmly a last time.

Lorn bows, then departs.

Majer Maran has clearly heard Lorn’s departure, because he, too, is standing, as the captain enters his study, a chamber less than eight cubits square, and even more sparse than Commander Meylyd’s study.

“Majer.” Lorn bows, then straightens, studying the officer. Majer Brevyl had warned Lorn about Maran, but without specifics.

Maran stands slightly over four cubits, a good head taller than Lorn, with short, light-brown hair, mild brown eyes, and a thin brush mustache. His broad shoulders and muscular chest taper to a narrow waist and comparatively slender legs. “Greetings, Captain Lorn, and welcome to Geliendra.” Maran bestows a warm and friendly smile upon the junior officer. “Please sit down.”

“Thank you.” Lorn takes the leftmost of the two chairs before Maran’s table desk.

“There are many tales about duty here,” Maran begins, sitting back in the chair behind the table desk. He sits up and rings the bell on the corner of the table. “Oh … I almost forgot.”

Lorn wonders what Maran almost forgot, but leaves a faint smile upon his lips, although his concentration, and his chaos-order senses, are upon the door, which opens.

“Ser.” A junior squad leader, thin-faced, appears with a tray, which he sets upon the corner of the desk.

“Thank you, Quenst.” Maran’s warm voice conveys appreciation.

A carafe and two mugs rest on the tray, as well as a dozen clean slices of white cheese, and as many wedges of thickcracker bread. A freshly sliced apple is laid out behind the cheese.

“Go ahead,” Maran urges. “If you’re like most of us, you don’t eat much on a firewagon trip.”

“That’s true.” Lorn lets his chaos senses flick across the carafe, and then the food, but can detect no flux that might indicate poison or other unsavory substances. So he samples a slice of cheese, an apple slice, and a wedge of the hard cracker bread, eating it carefully.

Maran pours two mugs of juice. “Redberry.”

“Thank you.” Lorn grasps the nearest mug and takes a small swallow.

“Patroling the Accursed Forest is not that dissimilar to patroling the Hills of Endless Grass,” Maran says, “and yet it is also totally different.” He smiles apologetically at Lorn.

“I understand dealing with barbarians,” Lorn offers, “but exactly how does one patrol the Accursed Forest?”

Maran’s warm smile turns ironic. “The Forest and the barbarians are much alike. They would invade Cyador and rob us of the fruits of chaos and prosperity. The Forest is a creation of wild order that would consume all of Cyador and return it to a forest where each creature would be ordered to destroy every man, woman, and child, because the wild order does not recognize us as a part of its patterns.” Maran coughs, takes a sip from his mug, and continues. “The Firstborn pushed the wild order back into the smallest area possible, and confined it with barrier wards. There are a dozen chaos towers which provide chaos energy to the wards. Each tower provides enough chaos energy to power the wards for sixty-six kays, so that each ward receives power from two towers. There are eight wards evenly spaced over each kay of wall, and all are linked by cupridium cables encased in vitrified ceramic.”

Lorn nods, wondering just how the Forest could escape such a chaos barrier.

“You ask, if you are like most lancer officers, how the Forest can escape such a prison.” Maran pauses for another sip of redberry. “There are several ways. First, some of thetrees can expel their seeds beyond the wall. Once such a seedling takes root, it grows quickly. That is why the area for a half kay back from the walls is continually tilled and sowed with salt to ensure that nothing will grow there. Second, the Forest has grown trees so large that when a branch breaks it falls across the wall. Full grown trees also fall, even when they appear to have no rot or illness. Trees or branches breach the barrier, and animals use such as a bridge to escape. We have found chaos cats over eight cubits in length, ten if you include their tails, which weighed more than fifty stone. You will see, on the wall in the officers’ dining room here tonight, the remnants of the skin of a giant stun lizard killed here twenty years ago. It is twenty cubits in length. It took a special firecannon to kill it. Third, occasionally a tree will send a root under the foundations of the wall. The foundations go down more than fifty cubits.” A crooked smile appears on Maran’s face. “The Accursed Forest is a dangerous adversary.”

Lorn waits.

“Seedlings can be destroyed by firelances, but if you destroy such, you send a lancer as a messenger immediately to the nearest Mirror Engineer detachment, with the exact location of the seedling. You can determine that because each ward on the wall is numbered. The first ward to the east of the north point is north ward one east; the second is north ward two east …. You understand? Roots are more dangerous, if infrequent, and all you can do is quarter off the area and destroy any animals that climb through them. Yes. they can be hollow. Fallen limbs require the most effort, because you will have to destroy all animals that try to use the limb as a bridge. The wards will eventually destroy the limb, but that could take anywhere from a day to an eight-day ….”

Lorn finds himself nodding.

Maran extends a thin book. “This is the patrol manual. You need to study it immediately.” He shrugs offhandedly. “It is straightforward. Patrol the ward-wall. Contain the wild creatures of the Accursed Forest when it is breached. Protectyour lancers and use them wisely. Oh … there is one structural difference here. We have one less squad leader per company. That means your senior squad leader, also leads a squad.” The warm smile returns. “I expect you will find time to study it. From here it is roughly a solid four-day ride to the post at Jakaafra.”

Lorn takes the manual. The time to ride to Jakaafra is certainly understandable, since Geliendra is on the southernmost point of the diamond walls that surround the Forest, and Jakaafra above the northernmost.

“Your senior squad leader will be Olisenn …. You are expected to patrol thirty-three kays each day, and rest on the fourth. There are way stations every thirty-three kays, and, of course, an outpost at each corner of the ward-walls.” Maran coughs lightly. “Tomorrow, when you’re rested, first thing, we’ll take a ride to the wall. There’s really no other way to explain it, not really.” Maran shrugs. “Some things have to be seen before any explanation makes sense. Then, the day after, you’ll be in charge of taking the replacement lancers for both Westend and Jakaafra. You’ll ride the wall, as, if you will, a quicker example of a patrol.”

The majer rises. “In the meantime, we’ll get you a room for a visiting officer. I’ll give you a quick tour, and then you can get cleaned up and familiarize yourself with Geliendra. Please feel free to look throughout the compound and to ask anyone any questions.”

Lorn rises. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“Nonsense. The more you know, the better you’ll do.” Maran smiles his warm and friendly smile and gestures toward the study door.