Magi'i of Cyador

XCVI

LORN STEPS OUT of the stable at Eastend and into the twilight of a winter day. Carrying his saddlebags, he stretches his legs, and readjusts his grip on them. The firelances have already been collected and delivered to the Engineer detachment for replacement or recharging.

The Lancer captain keeps trying to stretch his legs as he crosses the courtyard toward the quarters he will occupy as a transient officer, much as Captain Ilryk does when Third Company finishes a patrol at the Jakaafra compound. Although Second Company’s latest patrol offered no tree-falls, the ride had been cold and seemed longer than usual. Lorn’s breath leaves white clouds as he walks briskly across the white granite stones, glad this time for the white winter jacket that he wears.

“Captain!” A figure in the uniform of a Mirror Engineer waves from fifty cubits away.

“Majer.” Lorn raises his hand in reply as he recognizes Majer Weylt.

Weylt waits for Lorn to reach him before speaking. “I’d hoped you’d get here this evening. Otherwise, it would have been a lonely evening meal.”

“Are all the other officers gone?” asks Lorn.

“Yes. Be just us here tonight. Captain Strynst is off checking a tree-fall on the southeast ward-wall. And the patrol captain here … have you met Gowl?”

“Just in passing. We’ve shared a few meals.”

“He’s the one who found the tree. So that leaves us.” Weylt shrugs, then smiles briefly. “I’ll see you in the officers’ dining area shortly.”

“I need to clean up a bit.”

“That’s fine.” With a nod, Weylt turns and walks toward the building adjoining the quarters.

Lorn shaves and washes quickly, and pulls on his oneclean tunic before leaving the transient officer’s room and walking out across the now-empty courtyard. When he enters the next building, Lorn can hear the hubbub from the larger hall where the lancers are already eating. In the officers’ area, the engineer majer is waiting at one of the two tables, alone.

“I did hurry,” Lorn says as he nears.

“I can tell. The food may not be worth the haste.” Weylt gestures toward the bottle on the table. “All I have is Byrdyn, Captain. Scarcely repayment for that Fhynyco you had for me at Jakaafra.”

“After a cold and long patrol, the Byrdyn is most welcome,” Lorn replies, seating himself across from Weylt.

A server in gray appears and deposits a small casserole dish on the square table, a poor rendition of emburhka, from what Lorn can smell. A small loaf of a rye-like bread in a basket accompanies the dish.

“How long were you working on the Great Canal?” Lorn asks while Weylt fills both goblets.

“Near-on a season. That’s the way it seemed.” Weylt lifts his goblet. “To better days.” After a quick small swallow, the majer heaps some of the emburhka onto his crockery platter.

“To better days,” Lorn reiterates as he lifts his own goblet and takes a sip. Then he serves himself, then breaks off a chunk of the bread in the basket and sets it on one side of his platter. “What happened? I heard the retaining walls of the Great Canal collapsed ….”

“In a way.” Weylt tilts his head, as if thinking of a way to explain. “You know that the Accursed Forest lies in the middle of Eastern Cyador. It’s raised just a little, and the land is flat around it, and then slopes down … well, if it rains too much over or around the Forest the water has to go somewhere. And if the land to the south and west is already soaked, then the Fryadyr River overflows. It overflowed, and broke through the levees near Geliendra and then carved a way to the Great Canal ….”

“So … when the rains stopped, the river was flowing into the canal?”

Weylt nods. “Almost like there had been a river there once. Maybe there was, before the Firstborn changed things. That made it hard. We had to build a dam and then replace the levees before we could even start on repairing the Canal.” He frowns. “I didn’t realize that they’ve started using oxen to pull the freight boats along the canal.”

Lorn shrugs helplessly. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t come that way.”

“No one could tell me why. Oh … they said things like the chaos-cells for the tow wagons were needed elsewhere. But that doesn’t make sense. There are plenty of cells.”

“Is there plenty of chaos-force away from the Accursed Forest?” asks Lorn, almost idly. “Or maybe they need it to charge firelances used against the barbarians.”

“That could be.” After taking a swallow of the Byrdyn, Weylt glances at Lorn. “You’ve been carrying two firelances for the past few patrols.”

“Seems like I’ve had to. Even with reinforcements, we’re only at three-quarters strength.” Lorn but sips from his goblet, looking guilelessly at the major. “We’ve had a lot of fallen trees on the northeast ward-wall.”

“I can see where the extra lance might help.” Weylt’s tone is even, unforced. “Of course, we don’t have enough lances to issue two to every lancer.”

“I wouldn’t be using a second one if we had a full complement,” Lorn points out.

“There don’t seem to be enough lancers anywhere, these days. That’s true.” Weylt pauses to take several mouthfuls of the casserole before speaking again. “Be glad to get home leave, and some good emburhka.”

“How long for you?” Lorn asks between bites of the tooheavily peppered and overcooked emburhka.

“Another three seasons, at the end of summer.” Weylt’s lips twist. “Afterwards, I’ll be back here, just like you will be.”

Lorn, nods, waiting, knowing from the edge in the engineer’s voice that more is coming.

“You make reports on every patrol, don’t you?” Weylt asks.

“We all do.”

“Reports …” Weylt snorts. “We even have to report on every lance we recharge or replace. By squad and company, of course. And a separate place for the officers. They all go to Majer Maran. Don’t know what good they do.”

“I think every report must go there,” Lorn suggests. “I suppose he could figure out how much chaos energy it takes each squad to handle each tree-fall. Except each one’s different.”

“They might be trying to find out how much chaos energy it really takes. If they have trouble powering the Canal tow wagons …” Weylt refills his goblet, and glances at Lorn.

The lancer captain looks down at a goblet still half full. “I think not. With more Byrdyn, I might not wake up that easily in the morning.”

“Then, Commander Meylyd or your Majer Maran might have something else in mind,” suggests Weylt.

“They might,” Lorn agrees. “Who would know, though?” He takes another small sip of the Byrdyn. “I thank you for the wine. It’s been most welcome … and the conversation.”

“Not at all. I hate eating alone, and you’re one of the very few who understands the position of a Mirror Engineer.” Weylt raises his eyebrows but slightly. “Now … or even perhaps in the future.”

“I think I do,” Lorn replies. “And it’s clear you’re one of the few here who understands what a lancer captain such as I might face.” He lifts the goblet.

Weylt lifts his in return.

They both smile.