Magi'i of Cyador

XCIX

FAT AND WET snowflakes swirl past Lorn, so heavily that he cannot see the ward-wall from the perimeter road from where he rides with Kusyl and the second squad, so thickly that he is continually brushing slush and water from his forehead.He ignores the headache that accompanies the snow.

After briefly considering stopping the patrol, he decides against it, at least for a time. The biggest danger is fallen tree trunks, and even the heaviest snow won’t hide anything that large.

“You think this will last, ser?”

“I hope not. Usually, the big flakes don’t. Then, we’re going on furlough after this patrol.” Lorn says with a rueful laugh that carries the fifteen cubits between their mounts. “With our luck, a cubit of it will fall on the deadland.”

They both know that while the green crowns of the giant trees of the Accursed Forest may accept some snow, it will neither remain nor filter into the warmer green below.

“Or it’ll turn to rain and freeze,” counters Kusyl.

“Let’s hope not.” Lorn has had enough of patrols in cold and wet rain.

“May not get any tree-falls.”

“Let’s hope not.”

Snow clings to the gelding’s mane, and creates wet splotches where it melts on the thighs of Lorn’s trousers. The two ride silently, through the hushed whiteness created by the fast-falling snow, and Lorn continues to brush away snow and water.

Then, as abruptly as it has started, within the space of riding less than a kay, the snow stops falling, leaving the deadland covered with white less than a fraction of a span deep. Only puddles of slush remain on the granite of the perimeter road itself.

Lorn looks to his right. White steam-like vapor rises from the heights of the Accursed Forest, creating a misty effect above the high crowns and around the ward-wall.

Above them, the heavy gray clouds move swiftly northward.

“We’ll get rain before we’re done,” predicts Kusyl.

Lorn has no doubts about that. He just hopes it does not create another fallen tree or delay the patrol too much.