Scion of Cyador

XXX

Lorn looks up briefly and out the window of his first-floor administration-building study. The post-dawn air is still and warm, without too strong a breeze. He hopes the dry weather will hold, at least for a few days. Then he turns back to the papers before him. He is yet writing out the last of his scrolls, orders, and rough copies of maps when he hears Helkyt enter the outer study.

“Helkyt?”

“Yes, ser.” The senior squad leader shakes his head as he steps into Lorn’s study and sees the various stacks of papers. “You ever be sleeping, ser?”

“Not so much as I’d like, but that’s not for trying.” The overcaptain gestures to the chair across the table desk.

Helkyt sits down, almost gingerly.

“I’m going to impose some duties on you. I wish it could be otherwise, but you’re the only one with the experience.”

The senior squad leader’s eyebrows lift.

“Tomorrow is when we go to inspect the District Guards, as you may recall.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I will be taking all the Mirror Lancers except for a halfscore of senior lancers, and the halfscore of the most recent trainees.”

“Ser?” Helkyt shifts his weight in the chair, uneasily.

“I have heard from some traders that there may be some barbarian raiders riding into the lands west of Ehyla. I thought that we might check that out while putting the District Guards through maneuvers.”

“Best you take all the firelances, then, ser. Those we can do without-more so than you, if there be barbarians coming into Cyador.”

“I appreciate your thought. I hope I am mistaken, but one never knows.” Lorn shrugs. “My sources are usually good, but barbarians aren’t always predictable, except in that they like to attack the lancers and people of Cyador.”

“Ser…beggin’ yer pardon, but in more ’n two seasons, I’ve yet to see you mistaken, and though I be no wagering man, were I one, I’d wager on what you know.” He pauses. “And you be wanting me to keep things as you have?”

“That’s right.” Lorn leans forward. “We’re before harvest, and there shouldn’t be too many ships porting, either to buy or sell, except for clay and china, and most traders won’t come in just for that.”

“The olive-grower Baryat’s son-he been behaving himself?”

“So far as I can tell. But if he has any problems, they won’t be with you.” Lorn laughs ruefully. “We might get some orders transferring lancers to Assyadt or something,” Lorn muses, “but don’t transfer anyone until I get back. Or until it’s clear I won’t be back.”

“Don’t be talking that way, ser.”

“I don’t plan it that way, but I’d be a poor overcaptain if I didn’t plan for the worst.” Lorn points to the corner of the desk. “Those are the training plans for the next season, and some other papers that might be helpful.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn continues to brief Helkyt until nearly midmorning. He could have waited until later in the day, but he wants Helkyt to have some time to consider what he has told the senior squad leader so that if the older man has any questions, Lorn will still be in Biehl to answer them.