Scion of Cyador

XXXIX

As the Mirror Lancers and the District Guards form up outside the guard building in Ehyla, a light drizzle falls from the low gray clouds moving in off the Northern Ocean and over the River Behla. While the clouds are dark, and getting blacker, so far, the rain has not even wet the dust on the road. Lorn rides to where the guard squads have reined up, and halts the chestnut before the grizzled Wharalt.

“Ser?” The senior guard looks steadily at the overcaptain.

“You and your men did a good job-a very good job, and we could not have stopped the barbarians without you. Some of them-and you-may ask in the future whether what we did was necessary.” Lorn’s eyes hold Wharalt’s, “I spent three years in the Grass Hills, and I would judge so. I am returning your command to Commander Repyl, but I will also tell him how valiantly you all behaved. Also, under the Emperor’s Code, death golds are paid to the families of District Guards who die under the command of the Mirror Lancers. It is not enough, and they will be slow in coming, but they will come, and that is why I asked for their names. I would not deny them what they paid for with their lives. I would that you would watch for such and ensure that the families receive those golds.”

“That I will, ser.” Wharalt bows his head. “Ser…even I can see what must be done. None like it, but none will gainsay it. Many would have cost us more, I fear. You and your lancers took the brunt of the attacks. And that I be telling all, ser.”

“Thank you.” Lorn returns the bow, then guides the chestnut toward the building entrance.

Commander Repyl waits on the steps as Lorn dismounts and ties his mount to a brass ring.

Lorn walks forward and bows to the commander. “Commander Repyl, I am pleased to return your companies to your command. They have performed valiantly and well, and your training and organization are to be commended.”

Repyl’s mouth tightens as he takes in the more than a score of missing mounts and empty saddles. For a time, he does not speak. “I am certain you did your very best, Overcaptain, valiant lancer officer that you are, but since I was not there, would you care to explain the casualties, Overcaptain?”

Lorn nods. “I will. I will also send you a copy of the report I will be dispatching to the Majer-Commander.” He clears his throat. “We were fortunate enough to intercept a barbarian raiding force. There were about twentyscore. They were well inside Cyad, almost to Nhais when we were able to catch them on the south bank of the river. They had already burned at least three hamlets, a halfscore steads and holdings. They killed all but a score of the people living there.”

“Three hamlets?”

“You can ask your guards. Those hamlets and steads were the ones we saw. There may have been other smaller places. We forced them into a corner, and they refused to surrender. In fact, they demanded that we give them all safe passage back to Jerans-or they would kill all the hostages.” Lorn shrugs. “After all that they had killed already, I could not accede to that.”

“You let them kill hostages?”

“We did save a handful, and those we left with friends and families in Nhais.”

“You gave battle, and how many escaped?”

“None that we know of. We counted more than eighteenscore dead. I had your two remaining squad leaders verify that. We also returned with all their blades.”

Repyl swallows. “You slaughtered eighteenscore?”

“I wouldn’t call it a slaughter. We lost three-and-a-half score, and the lancers lost nearly twice what the Guard did,” Lorn says mildly. “Nor had we much choice when the barbarians were headed west to sack Nhais.”

“I…see.”

Lorn doubts that the District Commander really does, but nods just the same.

Repyl lowers his voice as his eyes fix on Lorn. “You knew before you left.”

“I did not know,” Lorn says evenly. “I thought it highly likely, but I could not prove it. If I told anyone, people might have acted unwisely. There has not been a raid here in generations, and there will not be another soon.”

“Acting such is dangerous.”

“Not to act would have been more so, Commander. And in not acting, the danger was far greater to the people of Cyador.” Lorn’s eyes are flat as he adds, “I expect I will be relieved. Sooner or later, but most possibly sooner.”

Repyl frowns. “Did you think of such before you left?”

“I did. But, after seeing what I saw in the Grass Hills for three years, I could see no other choice.”

“Truly…truly amazing. An honest and effective overcaptain in Biehl. One who serves his land before himself.” Repyl shakes his head slowly. “You are right, Overcaptain. You not likely to remain here.”

“I would expect not.” Lorn smiles. “I wish you well with my successor if it should come to that. And…you did a good job training them. I meant that. I will also report that I exercised my power, and that you were most cooperative, and that our success would not have been possible without your work.”

“I would appreciate such.”

For a moment, the two look at each other. Then Lorn bows. “Good day, Commander.”

“Good day, Overcaptain.”

Lorn turns and walks down the steps to remount the chestnut for the long ride back to the compound at Biehl and the longer wait for his replacement-or transfer-or disciplinary hearing, although he will be taking steps to ensure that a punitive discipline is unlikely, including scrolls to his brother, parents, and Ryalth, as well as copies of his battle report to the commanders at Assyadt, Syadtar, and Isahl, warning them of the stepped-up barbarian attacks, and the growing prevalence of Hamorian weapons that he has found. He may seek other means to ensure he is merely transferred to a dangerous command, rather than disciplined publicly-if he can think of such.

Perhaps even a report to the Hand of the Emperor, although he knows not if one so addressed will reach the shadowy figure.