Scion of Cyador

LXXV

In the late afternoon, Lorn sits in Dettaur’s study, although it is temporarily, if not technically, his for the moment. A light and pleasant spring breeze sifts through the window that is but partly ajar and brings a faint odor of a flower he does not recognize.

His lips quirk, and he looks down at the copy of the report on his campaign and of the scroll he has sent to Cyad-and across Cyador. Then he looks up, blankly, at the ancient golden wooden panels of the wall.

Outside, in the foyer, are a pair of lancers from Gyraet’s Sixth Company, detailed by the captain to protect Lorn. With them in the foyer are the senior squad leaders who continue the administrative work for the compound and the outposts it serves. The sub-majer shakes his head. The waiting is the hardest part, as if he were sitting on a chaos-tower that could flare at any moment. Yet he has done all that he can do.

He stands and walks to the window, checking the lancers who patrol the compound, wondering how long he can command them and whether they will see scores upon scores of lancers arriving, or whether he will simply receive a scroll dispatching him to Cyad-or back to Biehl…or some other out-of-the-way place.

He walks back to the desk and lifts the small bag he carries with him everywhere-along with the Brystan sabre. In the bag are the chaos-glass that had once been his father’s, and the silver-covered book, and the originals of the most incriminating of the trading papers taken from Jera.

Lorn slips out the chaos-glass and sets it on the desk. He concentrates. The silver mists part, and reveal Ikynd standing by the window in his personal quarters looking out over the courtyard. The commander shakes his head and turns from the window. Lorn releases the image.

Although he has kept a close watch on the commander, he still worries about the man, particularly since he knows Ikynd is true to only the principle of self-interest. At the moment, Lorn serves his self-interest, but anything could change that, nearly instantly.

After a moment, Lorn slips the glass back into its wooden case, and the case back into the bag. Finally, he begins to write, although he has no idea whether this scroll will reach its destination.

My dearest,

There have been some difficulties with couriers and messages, and I have not received any of your scrolls, if there have been such, since the turn of winter. Nor have I received any others. So I know little of what may have happened to you or in Cyad.

I trust that you and Kerial are well, and that your efforts with Ryalor House have been rewarded. We have been through an arduous campaign, and rode all the way to Jera, where we discovered that many of the blades that have been slaying lancers have come from not just Hamorian traders, but even from cupritors and traders in Summerdock. This was a shock, and when we returned to Inividra, I faced a greater shock, since there were some indications I might be relieved of command because of my efforts in the field.

I came to Assyadt where Dettaur attempted to kill me. For reasons that are unclear, he did not want my report on the blades to go to the Majer-Commander. Much remains unclear, but Commander Ikynd and I have sent a report to the Majer-Commander, and to others, detailing my campaign and the blade-trading in Jera. The campaign was successful enough that for the season so far, there have been no raids from the northwest Grass Hills by barbarians. We also know of none in the areas of outposts controlled from Syadtar, but we would not receive such reports until much later.

At the moment, I am acting as the deputy to Commander Ikynd in Assyadt, waiting to find out what my next assignment may be.

You and Kerial are well, I trust, and I can but hope it will not be that long before I can see you both under pleasant circumstances.

Lorn sets the scroll aside to dry. He reaches for another sheet of parchment for the one he will write to his parents. Then he pauses and looks out the narrow window and watches one of his lancers-mounted and riding a post. He can but hope that at least some of his dispatches have found their way beyond Captain-Commander Luss and that Majer-Commander Rynst will act as Lorn has predicted.

With a deep breath, he smoothes the parchment and begins to write.

Later, after he reviews the status reports from Pemedra and drafts a response for the commander’s seal, he will inspect the lancers and meet, once more, with his captains…and wait.