Magi'i of Cyador

LXXVII

LORN WAKES THE next morning, just after dawn, stiff from lying on the hard soil of the deadland with only a thin blanket for padding and for warmth against a night that had almost been close to freezing. His skull aches, both from fatigue and from a vague memory of dreams-dreams of white walls being poured into the very earth itself, trees being scythed from the forests, and acid being dripped on his skin, except his skin had been the ground itself. His eyes turn south to the bulk of the Accursed Forest, but the Forest offers no answers.

He shakes his head slowly and stretches, gingerly. He drinks nearly an entire water bottle before he has any of the hard biscuits and cheese that comprise the emergency rations. The combination of liquid and food seems to clear his thoughts somewhat, and he studies the day, seemingly as cool as the previous one, although the wind out of the northeast has died down into an intermittent, if cool breeze.

As Lorn is smoothing his uniform in place, wishing again that he had been able to shave, Kusyl appears.

“The sentries say that nothing happened with the tree, ser,” Kusyl reports. “No cats, no leopards, no serpents.”

“Good. I’m going to have another look at the serpent. I won’t be long. Besides, there’s little enough we can do except try to keep any more leopards from breaking free.”

“Yes, ser.” Kusyl’s tone is not quite dubious.

“The sentries are still on duty?”

“Yes, ser.”

“When I get back, we’ll discuss the day-both for first and second squads.”

Kusyl nods.

Lorn walks the five hundred cubits or so from the bivouac area beyond the crown of the tree down the east side of the tangled branches. Four vulcrows flap off as the lancer captainnears the trunk and the dead snake. The astringent smell of crushed leaves mixes with the odors of musk and death as Lorn steps closer to the charred remnants of the serpent’s head.

For a time, he studies the mass of charred scales and the blackened white bone showing through. Then he studies the trunk, and then the branches. Finally, he walks back to where the two squad leaders wait. His boots are covered with the powdered dust of salt- and chaos-killed soil even after his short walk.

Olisenn raises his eyebrows as if to ask why Lorn had been studying the dead serpent. Kusyl merely waits.

“We need to maintain the guard to keep any more creatures from leaving the Forest or the tree. We’ll need to continue the sentry with four lancers with firelances behind him, until the engineers arrive and fire the crown.”

Both squad leaders nods reluctantly.

“We won’t mount anyone else until the engineers arrive, but we can rotate groups of lancers to that stream to the north to get water for themselves and their mounts-and to wash up if they want.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Why don’t you take the first group, Olisenn,” Lorn suggests. “You and Kusyl alternate groups of four from each squad.”

“As you wish, ser.”

Lorn nods. His thoughts are still on his dreams and the puzzle of the giant serpent.

“I’d like to report that to the second squad, ser,” Kusyl says.

“Of course.”

Lorn does not join the rotation for washing until well after mid-day, with the last group from the second squad. The cool water clears his head more, and he feels less itchy and more presentable after shaving.

It is late afternoon before two firewagons appear with the armored cannon. The officer who emerges from the lead firewagon to seek Lorn is one of the captains Lorn had met whenthanking Majer Weylt the morning Second Company had left Eastend.

Lorn rides the gelding closer and reins up, waiting.

“Captain Lorn, Captain Strynst. Majer Weylt sends his apologies, but the spring rains were too heavy, and there was a break in the retaining walls for the Great Canal, and he was summoned to assist there.”

“From Eastend?” Lorn asks.

“It’s a distance, even by firewagon, but there aren’t that many good engineers, and the Majer is one of the best.” Strynst smiles apologetically.

“We’re glad to see you,” Lorn replies. “I was just surprised that he’d be called from so far.”

“There aren’t that many Mirror Engineers any more. Most of us are here, except for the few that are in Fyrad working on the fireships.” Strynst turns and studies the trunk. “Not too bad, this one.” He gives a wry smile. “Of course, it fell right on a ward. Happens nine times out of ten. Biggest reason to believe the Accursed Forest thinks in some way. That couldn’t happen by accident-not year after year.”

“I never thought anything with the Forest was an accident.” Lorn laughs once.

“Some lancer officers do. Most of them end up dead.” The engineer captain gestures toward the upper branches three hundred cubits northward. “Have many creatures running loose?”

Lorn’s eyes follow the gesture momentarily, then fix back on the engineer. “Two giant cats, one serpent, and a pack of night leopards. Vulcrows, of course.”

“A serpent? Never heard of one of those.”

“It’s a big one,” Lorn says, gesturing in the general direction of the crown. “Forty cubits, maybe longer. Two cubits thick.”

“We’ll take a look when we fire the crowns.” The captain pauses. “You get all the creatures?”

“One giant cat and two of the leopards escaped. There wasn’t any real way to catch them.”

“There never is once they leave the trees and get past thelancers. Until some holder gets killed trying to protect his stock or kills them because they get cornered in a pen or something.” Strynst shakes his head. “Might as well get started. Pull your men back, and we’ll set up the firecannon.”

“They’re all back at the crown area now, Captain. I thought it would be better to set up there to keep any more creatures from breaking loose. If you want, I can move some up here.”

“A half-score-behind the firewagons,” Strynst suggests.

“I’ll have them there shortly.” Lorn turns the gelding and rides back north, knowing, again, from the order-chaos patterns that he feels and cannot yet fully explain, that nothing more will occur. Not with this fallen trunk.

“Thank you.” Strynst turns and walks back to the firewagon.

Lorn turns the gelding, letting the horse walk slowly toward the waiting lancers. He takes a deep breath. Spring has just barely begun.