Magi'i of Cyador

LXXVIII

THE BRIGHT MID-MORNING light of spring is pouring through the window of the inner Mirror Lancer study as Lorn struggles with the last lines of his latest patrol report. He looks it over once more, then signs it and looks up at the closed door, beyond which is the empty outer study.

Theoretically, he has the day off, as a stand-down period, but if he does not use part of the day to catch up on the reports and the letters to the families of the fallen lancers, it will be another eightday before he can, and then he will have twice as much to write, with a memory far less fresh.

After he sets aside the patrol report to let the ink dry, he picks up the next sheet of paper to begin the summary reports that will go to Majer Maran in Geliendra-carried by the next firewagon of the Mirror Engineers. In one patrol, Second Company has dealt with two breaches of the ward-wallby the fallen trees-a giant stun lizard, something like four giant cats, three packs of night leopards, and a giant serpent-and lost five lancers.

Lorn dislikes mentioning the number of creatures that escaped, but does, since all the reports in the file do so, even if the format does not necessarily require such. But, as Lorn knows, what is required and what is expected are not always the same. After finishing that scroll, he lays it by the first, and then begins writing the scroll he dislikes.

… with great sadness I must inform you that … was killed while performing his duties as a Mirror Lancer. He died in protecting the land that he served and loved from the continual dangers of the Accursed Forest ….

After five such letters, Lorn finally picks up the other scroll, the sealed one that has been waiting for him.

Rather, it is addressed to: Lancer Captain, Northend, Jakaafra. The seal is blank maroon wax, without even an initial on the glob that holds the scroll closed. Lorn breaks it, unrolls the missive, and begins to read.

Honored Captain:

I am writing this scroll on behalf of my family, and my brother in particular. They have suffered great depredations as a result of the failure of the Mirror Lancers at Jakaafra to destroy wild creatures from the Accursed Forest ….

Last eightday, a black leopard entered the sheep pen and dragged off a prize ewe, two nights in a row. The day following, my brother found dead a bullock he had been fattening for market. Little was left, save the head and bones. The prints in the ground were of a cat whose size could scarce be imagined ….

I am fortunate in that I do not require livestock for my livelihood, but all too many in and around Jakaafra will not survive in winter, save in despairand poverty, unless these awful creatures are destroyed ….

Whatever needs be done, we beseech you do so ….

The signature reads: Kylynzar.

Lorn takes a deep breath. So … now he must worry about sacrificing even more lancers to save cows and sheep-or possibly save those farm animals. Or can he task Juist with rooting them out? How? He takes a second breath, considering that the victims could have been children as easily as livestock.

Yet … he has not had enough charged firelances or enough lancers to kill and contain all the night leopards and giant cats they had faced, let alone the giant serpent.

He frowns, catching himself. Knowing what he knows, he has not been able to do such. Will he have to? He worries his lips. He certainly has no intention of attacking every stun lizard with but a sabre or trying to chase down giant cats.

The serpent still preys on him. Setting aside the scroll for a moment, he searches for the patrol manual that Majer Maran had provided. When he finally pulls it from the single desk drawer, he flips the pages slowly, going all the way through the volume. Not finding what he seeks, he starts on the first page and begins to scan each page, if quickly.

When he has completed a second search, he sets the manual down slowly. There are no references to serpents. The manual lists the dangers from the night leopards, from giant cats, from the stun lizards, even from a kind of tortoise Lorn has never seen, and from vulcrows and the circular nests of giant paper wasps-wasps as long as a man’s index finger. The captain winces at that thought, and resolves to keep that possibility in mind with the next fallen trunk.

Lorn had not seen teeth in the serpent’s jaws, nor had the serpent actually attacked the lancers. Yet it could have swallowed a lancer.

Lorn fingers his chin and glances down at the scroll hemust answer-or send back to Majer Maran. He likes neither alternative.

Finally, he begins to write ….

Honored ser,

I appreciate the magnitude of the calamities which have befallen you and your family and your brother ….

… do the best that we can, but Second Company patrols a wall ninety-nine kays in length with but two score lancers …. At the time of your difficulties, we were opposing the Accursed Forest and killed near-on a score of creatures, including four giant cats, two packs of the black night leopards and a giant stun lizard … in these endeavors in which five lancers lost their lives it may have been possible that some creatures did escape, but not through the lack of effort or the unwillingness of lancers to die to protect the folk of Cyador … and we will continue to do our best in this struggle ….

With all best wishes and heart-felt condolences ….

After the third scroll dries, Lorn locks all eight responses into his chest, since there is no way to send them at the moment, and since he may reconsider his wording of the last response.

He closes the door and walks down the empty corridor, turning at the cross-corridor and going through the double doors to the courtyard of the compound. The courtyard is also empty, since Juist is patrolling the roads somewhere thirty kays to the north, as Lorn recalls.

On the other side of the courtyard, the stable doors are open, and Lorn steps inside.

“You’re about early, ser,” offers Suforis, the thin-faced blond stableboy, scurrying up to the lancer captain, “that be, for a stand-down day.” He glances toward the stall that holdsLorn’s gelding. “You’re not going to ride him far, ser?”

“Only to Jakaafra.”

“He’ll do for that. The farrier’ll be here after your next patrol, ser.”

“How many of the mounts need new shoes?”

“Could be a half-score, ser. Not as bad as undercaptain Juist’s mounts; they ride the roads, mostly, and it’s hard on’em. He needs most of the spare mounts.”

Lorn nods, then asks, “You said that you were allowed to ride the spares for exercise?”

“Have to, ser. And Undercaptain Juist, he uses me as a messenger, at times.”

“You’re good at it, I’d bet,” Lorn answers. “I might ask you to do that, as well, except it’s for me to send scrolls to order things. Could you do that, say for a copper a scroll-carry them to a factor in Jakaafra?”

“Did that for Captain Meisyl, half copper each.” Suforis grins.

“So a copper would be fine.” Lorn grins back. “Now … If you’d saddle the gelding.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn does not wait long before the stableboy returns.

“You best be riding easy, ser,” cautions Suforis, after leading the saddled gelding out to Lorn.

“I will.” Lorn smiles at the earnest young man.

The lancer captain lets the gelding set his own pace. It is not as though Lorn is in that much of a hurry, although it is far later than he had intended to get back in touch with Dustyn the factor. Then, when has he had any stand-down days to do so before this?

The air has warmed from the previous two days, but a light breeze from the east remains, making riding comfortable. Green has suffused the shoots in the fields, and the winter-gray leaves retained by the trees in the woodlots and orchards have turned deep green, while the fresh leaves are a lighter and more intense shade. The apple trees in one orchard already show white blossoms, although the pearappies’limbs are near-bare yet, with winter-gray leaves still furled.

The gelding’s hoofs tap-click on the granite stones of the road, a smooth way, but narrow, only ten cubits wide. Twice Lorn goes onto the grassy shoulder to pass wagons headed for the town. He nods politely to both drivers, and both nod back, somberly, without speaking.

Although the town is supposedly only five kays from the compound, it is nearly mid-morning when the gelding brings Lorn to where the houses begin to gather together, past the kaystone announcing the town lies yet one kay farther. Lorn rides past the yellow-brick houses, each with the green ceramic exterior privacy screens, and the trimmed privacy hedges that circle rear porticos. Most of the green shutters are open. With all the dwellings of one story, to Lorn, Jakaafra seems something less than a town, if more than a hamlet.

The single square in the midst of Jakaafra is small, merely an open, stone-paved expanse no more than a hundred cubits on a side. Lorn rides slowly around the square, making a full circuit before his eyes light on a building on a short lane just off the square. There is a narrow storefront, above which is a green barrel. Lorn hopes that the green barrel is the symbol for a factor in spirits and liquids. It should be, since Dustyn’s scroll had indicated he was “off the square.”

With a smile, Lorn guides the gelding to the granite hitching post below the narrow porch, and ties his mount to the bronze ring, slightly tarnished. He steps onto the porch and through the single doors and finds himself in a small room, bare except for a counter, behind which no one stands, but on which is a handbell. Lorn rings it.

“Coming …”

Lorn waits, but no one appears.

Finally, he rings it again.

“ … said I was a’coming.” The curtain behind the counter is drawn back and a man appears a span or two taller than Lorn. His straight brown hair is pulled back and held by an ornate silver clip. “I said … oh, Captain, didn’t know as itwas you. Captain Lorn, I take it, since you’d be the only Mirror Lancer captain around, and today being your stand-down day, I’d wager, seeing as you wouldn’t be here on any other day ….”

Lorn laughs. “I’m Captain Lorn.” He lifts his hand and shows the seal ring.

“And I’m Dustyn, factor in spirits and liquids, only one north of the Accursed Forest, only one’tween here and the barbarians,’tween here and the Westhorns ….” Dustyn bows. “If you would accompany me, honored captain.”

As he follows Dustyn through the narrow curtained archway, Lorn wonders why he is an “honored” captain, but he follows the older man along a corridor and down the narrow brick steps to a cool cellar. Against one wall is a long platform, on which rest kegs and barrels of differing sizes, made of staves of various woods. On the adjoining wall are racks containing hundreds of bottles.

Before the racks are three wooden crates and two baskets.

“You see … we have two cases of the Alafraan and one of the Fhynyco ….” Dustyn lifts both hands theatrically. “And of course, the two baskets of dry goods we accepted on your behalf, as they were so small.”

Lorn nods. The baskets are small, no more than two cubits long and slightly less than a cubit in diameter-small enough to be fastened behind his saddle. He extends silver to the factor. “I appreciate your care.” He smiles. “You did well to treat with Ryalor House. It is small … but not without influence.”

Dustyn offers a lopsided smile in return. “Indeed, ser. I know some who trade with both the Yuryan Clan and the Dyljani, and my inquiries, always discreet, you understand, they have returned the words to me that the Ryalor House is honest and returns value.” Dustyn shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously.

“All kinds of value?” suggests Lorn.

“Ah … yes, ser.”

“I will put in a good word for you, Dustyn.” The lancer captain smiles. “Perhaps we could work out something.” Hepauses. “I would rather not accept all these bottles at one time, and you do have some storage here.”

“Yes, ser.” Dustyn’s smile loses its nervous edge. “If you would wish a few bottles every eightday … for a small fee ….”

“How small?” asks Lorn warily.

“Very small-a half copper an eightday?”

“We have an agreement.” Lorn extends another silver. “This should accommodate you until fall, should it not?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Do you know a holder named Kylynzar?” asks Lorn. “From somewhere around here?”

“Kylynzar? Yes, ser. A most respected man. He holds much land to the north, in the red hills, and he grows melons, and some of them he turns into the gold melon brandy. It is good brandy, though most in Jakaafra prefer the rice beer or the ale.”

“Hmmm … do you have a bottle of the brandy?”

“I have several … more than several.”

Lorn nods. “I have a suggestion. I will be sending a scroll to someone I know at Ryalor House. You can make those arrangements, can. you not?”

“It would have to accompany some goods … or for a fee ….”

“The golden melon brandy. I would suggest sending a small case to Ryalor House. A gold in shipping?”

“Ah … yes, ser, and a gold for a half-score of the smaller bottles.”

Lorn nods, and extends two golds, hoping he will not need to spend much more for at least several eightdays, when his next stipend as a lancer captain arrives. “Consider it done. You send my scroll-you will receive it tomorrow or the next day-with the shipment back to Ryalor House.”

“Yes, ser.”

“And for that, Dustyn, you could spare me one small bottle of the golden brandy to go with the Alafraan and Fhynyco I will take with me, could you not?” Lorn smiles winningly.“If I like it, and Ryalor House likes it, you might find more trade with them.”

“A bottle I could spare.” Dustyn’s smile is half-relieved, half-speculative.

“And you know that Ryalor House respects confidences, and expects its confidences to be kept?”

“Ah … yes, ser … many have said such.”

“Just so we understand each other.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn gives up a last silver. “For your assistance and continuing efforts, Dustyn.” He thinks the combination of implied lash and honey will keep the factor dealing honestly, and his own rudimentary truthreading skills indicate that Dustyn has not lied to him or tried to deceive him.

Lorn does need to borrow some cord to fasten the strawpadded sack with the brandy and wine and the two baskets to the gelding, and he ties them securely behind his saddle.

With a nod and a wave, he turns the gelding back toward the compound. Concentrating on all that must be done, his thoughts flicking from one problem to another, the return ride seems far shorter.

Once he is back in his quarters, with the three bottles of wine-one of Fhynyco and two of Alafraan-and the brandy sitting on his small desk, he opens the brandy and pours a finger width of it into his mug.

Then he sniffs it, slowly. The aroma barely holds the scent of melon, and there is a deeper and warmer flavor there. He takes a sip, and cannot help but smile. If Ryalor House can arrange matters quietly, there will be more golds from the brandy. If ….

Then … all of life holds its ifs.

Lorn bends down and opens the first basket. On top is a set of smallclothes, and then a lightweight summer shimmercloth Lancer tunic. Under that is a second set of smallclothes. Within the second set is a folded and sealed paper. He smiles and sets aside the clothing for the words written in Ryalth’s bold script.

My dearest captain,

As promised, here are some goods that may be of value in the seasons ahead.

Much gossip came of the death of Shevelt. I believe that occurred after you departed. The Dyljani Clan offered its respects to the new heir, in golds. They also presented an exquisite Hamorian tapestry. At the moment, all is calm.

Ryalor House suffered some loss when the Redwind Courser foundered in a storm in the Gulf, but not so much as many, and recouped some of that in other trades ….

Lorn nods. While he had hoped the ship would last for a few voyages, he had warned Ryalth, and she had acted accordingly. He would like to wait to respond to Ryalth, to take time to answer properly, but time he does not have, not when he will ride out on the morrow for another patrol out and back, another eightday before he can send a scroll in a manner he knows will reach its destination with far less chance of being read than sending it through the lancer courier system.

Still … he had the forethought to make arrangements with Dustyn-the forethought, and the luck, he reminds himself.

Below the garments, and wrapped in heavy oiled leather are several other packages-some cheeses, dried fruits, and nuts. The second basket holds a package of fine linen paper, three bottles of ink, and a cupridium-tipped pen that has clearly come from a craftsman. Concealed in the middle of the paper are ten golds. Also at the bottom of the second basket are more dried fruits and nuts.

Lorn smiles at the clear reminder that he is expected to write, and at the suggestion that the golds are to be used to ensure such missives arrive.

Once he has emptied the baskets and stored their goods, Lorn lights the lamp in the bracket above the desk, seats himself, and begins to write, using the new pen and ink.

My dearest lady trader,

Thank you for the Alafraan and the Fhynyco … and for all the manner of fine goods you have sent. You are truly amazing …. I have made arrangements, through Dustyn the factor, to send you a small case of a gold melon brandy. Dustyn recommended it, and I have tried one bottle. It has a good and mellow taste, strong as it is, and I’ve never seen it before. Perhaps it might prove useful and profitable as an item to sell to the Austrans or Hamorians ….

I also suggest you look into the timber gleaned from the Accursed Forest. It’s carried down the Great Canal and sold to coastal traders and Hamorians … wouldn’t be surprised if it made good shipbuilding timber, but couldn’t tell you why. The Brystans might be interested ….

Lorn pauses, holding the pen, wishing he could offer her more insight, for it seems that is all he can offer in these days. Finally, he adds a few more lines and closes it.

From your faithful partner, one most appreciative of the clothing, the sustenance, and the wines and the spirit in which they were all conveyed.

He lays that scroll aside for the ink to dry while he begins the second, also overdue, to his family, but that will go through the lancer courier system, where it will doubtless be read, and will say little that is not expected.

It was a long trip to Jakaafra, and it has taken some time to become familiar with all that is necessary here. My immediate senior officer, Majer Maran, is most friendly, and reminds me of my old school-mate Dettaur ….

Only Jerial will understand the full meaning of that …. and his mother ….

… patrols here different from those in Isahl … we ride three days, have a day of stand-down, then ride three more-unless there is a problem …. Jakaafra is the smallest of the compounds around the Forest …. I have met some Mirror Engineers and am developing great respect for their work ….

After he adds more pleasantries, and allows the second scroll to dry, Lorn seals both scrolls and sets them on the corner of the desk, for dispatch, in their differing ways, in the morning.

Then, he stands and stretches, before moving to the wardrobe, and slipping the chaos glass out and setting it upon his desk. He frowns. He has only felt one magus screeing him since he came to Jakaafra. Does the Forest inhibit such? Or does no one care about his actions in distant eastern Cyador?

Laying the glass on the golden-aged white oak, Lorn concentrates on the silvered glass, trying to call up the image of Ryalth. The mists appear, and swirl for what seems an inordinately long time, but they do clear and present an image.

A red-haired woman walks along Second Harbor Way in the fading light of early evening. Abruptly, her step hesitates and she turns. For a moment, Lorn looks full into the face in the glass, then lets the image go. He does not wish to disturb her-not too much.

His forehead is beaded with sweat from that short effort, and he can tell he will need practice, much more practice.

What of Maran? He shakes his head.

Then he smiles and concentrates on recalling Dustyn the factor.

When the mists clear, Lorn finds himself blushing, for Dustyn is within a bedchamber, and not alone. He quickly allows that image to fade.

Does the Forest inhibit a chaos glass?

He concentrates on the last tree trunk that had fallen across the ward-wall, trying to recall the location near the midpoint chaos tower and even the shape of the trunk that remained after the engine captain had fired the crown.

The mists take far, far longer to clear, and Lorn can feel the heat pouring from his brow, but he continues to seek the image.

Finally, he is rewarded with an image. Four wagons flank a trunk that appears half what it had been. A score of men labor with shimmering long saws. Lorn tries to shift the image to see beyond the wall, but nothing appears except a black-silver curtain. He tries again.

His head feels light, and tiny stars flash before his eyes. He sits on the edge of his narrow bed until the flashing and dizziness subside. Then he stands and replaces the glass in the wardrobe.

He needs to find something to eat. He reclaims the opened brandy bottle and steps out into the corridor, turning and locking his door. Then he starts for the dining area, where he knows he can find bread and cheese, at least. Perhaps Juist has returned and will like some of the brandy.

Lorn shrugs, smiling. The day has not gone that badly, and he does not have to think of the morrow’s patrol. Not yet.