Scion of Cyador

LXXVI

An eightday has passed since Lorn has sent out his dispatches. The headquarters compound at Assyadt has heard nothing, except standard dispatches about such matters as procurement of mounts, sent before Lorn’s report could have been received, and another caution about the declining number of firelances and recharges available-somewhat concerned-sounding reports from the outpost at Pemedra that there have been no barbarian attacks and no barbarians sighted.

Lorn has been acting as Ikynd’s deputy, drafting dispatch scrolls for provisions, inspecting the compound, drafting the request for replacement officers for Inividra, spending some time directing the arms drills he had scheduled for his lancers, and even, hard as it had been, drafting a letter to Dettaur’s family informing them of his death in the line of duty. Yet, still he has time to worry about what may come, and his eyes go from the study door to the window and back again.

Thrap!

Lorn looks up as Commander Ikynd steps into his temporary study, then stands. “Yes, ser?”

“You are so formal.” Ikynd laughs, before his voice returns to its genial tone. “You’re the one in command.”

“No, ser. You’re in command. I’m just not letting you do anything that will hurt the lancers in the outpost or the field until we hear from the Majer-Commander.”

Ikynd shakes his head. “First, my command is run by a scheming city lancer who is favored by the Captain-Commander, and now by a Cyad-raised, magus-born, patrol commander who’s the opposite. You’d think you’d been raised in Assyadt and not Cyad.”

Lorn shrugs, waiting for the commander to continue.

“What will you do if the Majer-Commander sends ten companies?” asks Ikynd, still standing by the open door.

“Walk out and surrender,” Lorn admits.

“You wouldn’t try to go out in a blaze of glory or some such?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to the men. I’ve tried to take the risks myself. They’ve done their tasks. I just didn’t want to get killed and have them die because someone like Dettaur was determined to put me in a position where I had to die or they did.” Lorn frowns and adds, “When it was totally unnecessary.”

The commander laughs. “If no one had bothered you, I’d wager you’d have died somewhere doing your duty.”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” Lorn admits, “but I couldn’t let lancers die when they didn’t have to. And I couldn’t let Dettaur keep doing what he was doing. If it hadn’t been me, sooner or later, it would have been someone else.”

Ikynd turns back toward the door. “One way or another, it won’t be long. The Captain-Commander doesn’t look from hand to hand.” He pauses. “Now that you’ve made me hero,” offers Ikynd, “how long will you dare to leave Inividra and the poor peasants without protection?”

Lorn fingers his chin. “Not long. I have been considering it. I think you should detail a company to stay here, and the rest should return to duty at Inividra, with an experienced captain promoted to overcaptain until the Captain-Commander decides.”

“Besides Sub-Majer Uflet?”

“I doubt that the Sub-Majer will return to Inividra. We’ve heard nothing from Nesmyl.”

“He’s the second senior officer to disappear around you.”

Lorn offers a faint smile. “Just a coincidence, I’m sure. I’ll draft an order for you to promote a captain to overcaptain.”

“I can’t do that.”

“The Code says commanders can make temporary promotions and recommend them to the Captain-Commander. There’s no overcaptain at Inividra anyway.”

Ikynd shrugs. “I had forgotten that. Who do you have in mind?”

“I would have recommended Emsahl, but Gyraet would be a good choice. Or Cheryk.”

“I’d prefer Gyraet, if it’s all the same to you,” suggests Ikynd.

“I’ll talk to them about leaving, and let them know.”

“It would be easier, one way or another, if most were gone before this is resolved,” Ikynd points out.

“You are right about that,” Lorn says.

“I am sometimes,” suggests Ikynd. “Commanders do learn something over the years.”

“You were wrong only in allowing Dettaur his head.” Lorn smiles.

“Was I?” Ikynd lifts his eyebrows. “If you are correct, I will be a hero, and he’ll be disgraced and forgotten, despite your kind words in that letter.”

Lorn bows.

Ikynd returns the bow. “I won’t keep you from meeting with the officers.” He pauses. “I’d like to be able to report that most left after the matter was brought to my attention. It would be better for you as well, either way.”

“I’ll talk to them now.”

Ikynd slips back to his study, and Lorn walks into the corridor and then out through the foyer. He stops just outside the building to let his eyes adjust to the bright sun. As he looks up, a after a few moments, he sees Rhalyt riding toward him.

“Good day, ser,” offers the undercaptain, reining up his mount before Lorn, who recalls that First Company is the duty Company for the afternoon.

“No word yet,” Lorn says easily with a grin, “as I’m sure you know, but we’ll be sending five companies back to Inividra shortly.”

The undercaptain nods. “I thought that might happen.”

“I’m going to talk to the others.”

“Yes, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.

“I think you should be among those to return. You’re only an undercaptain, and could have a fine career. The Majer-Commander is short of experienced lancers and officers, and he’s not about to waste talent and experience.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.

“Thank you,” Lorn says with a smile, before turning and walking across the sun-splashed main courtyard toward the north barracks and the shadowed courtyard where he has ordered his captains to drill the men in sabres.

As he steps past the corner of the barracks, the order rings out, “Stand down!”

The three captains walk quickly toward Lorn, who waits until they have gathered around him. “There’s nothing new. Not right now. I’ve been thinking things over. We’ve done what we can do here,” Lorn says slowly. “The Majer-Commander and the Emperor know what they need to know. I’ll need one company to remain here for a while, but it’s time for the other five to return to Inividra…before the barbarians resume their raids. For the company to stay here, Commander Ikynd will sign the orders…but I’d prefer a volunteer.”

Esfayl grins. “Well…my sister does live in the hamlet next from Assyadt.” He looks at Cheryk and then at Gyraet.

“You can have it.” Cheryk looks at Lorn. “What of you, ser?”

“We’ve either gotten the Majer-Commander to see the problem with the traders, or we haven’t. I’ll be staying here to see what happens. The commander will appoint a temporary overcaptain for Inividra. The outpost has been short one, anyway.”

“Best be one of us,” suggests Esfayl. “One of you two.”

“The commander would prefer Gyraet,” Lorn says, looking at Cheryk. “It could be either of you two.”

Cheryk nods. “Not that I wouldn’t like the rank, but Gyraet’d be better for now.”

Gyraet flushes. “I have not been at Inividra long.”

“You’ll do,” says Cheryk. “And you have to write all the reports.”

“Ser…” Gyraet begins. “This…I did not…”

“I know.” Lorn looks at Gyraet. “I hope you can handle it. I think it’s better this way, and I think you two and Rhalyt need to prepare to leave first thing in the morning. I’ll arrange for as many firelances as I can find for you. I’ve already drafted and the commander has signed a request for replacement officers. There will be raids by late summer, I think. Not much before, and they’ll be small raids on isolated hamlets. So you will need to go back to one-company patrols.” Lorn grins. “I’m not saying that to make the commander happy. If nothing happens, by a year or two from now, you may need to resume larger patrols, but I don’t think the barbarians have enough men for large raids now.”

“I’ll wager they don’t,” says Esfayl.

“You’ll have to rotate taking Second and Fifth Companies,” Lorn says, “until you get the replacement officers.”

“We’ve done worse, and there won’t be raids for a time,” Cheryk says. “Are you sure matters here are settled?”

“As settled as we can make them.” Lorn shrugs. “And I wouldn’t want any peasants-or lancers-to suffer. If everyone is under proper orders, then I doubt there will be many problems.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I’ll make sure you all have orders by this evening.”

As he turns and recrosses the courtyard, he hears the low voices.

“…doesn’t look good…”

“…always looked out for his men…”

“…angel-fire few officers like that…”

Lorn has no more than returned to the study and reseated himself at the desk he occupies when there is a knock on the door, and a squad leader-Gryal-peers in.

“Ser?”

“Come on in.”

Gryal steps forward and hands Lorn a scroll, one with a blue seal and bound in a blue ribbon. “This came in for you with the couriers. Thought you ought to get it personal.”

“Thank you. I suspect it’s from my consort. Her earlier scrolls never reached Inividra.”

“There was word about that…”

“Were there any other dispatches?”

“No, ser. But word is that you get everything first.” Gryal grins. “Way it ought to be.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem, ser. The squad leader bows and backs out.

Lorn lifts the scroll, then breaks the seal and begins to read.

My dearest lancer,

I have received the first scroll from you in seasons, but I knew, as you know, that you care, and now I know why there were no scrolls.

Jerial says that she is not surprised by your former classmate, nor am I surprised at what you discovered in Jera, or that you have found yourself in Assyadt. In my own poor way, I have passed on the information you have sent, and spoken, if briefly, to Vyanat’mer, He already knew and had read your official report, and he appreciated that you had seen fit to inform him so that he was not surprised in meeting with His Mightiness.

I do not know what will come of your actions and report. Much is in turmoil here, with your family, as you know…

Lorn swallows. His family? His parents? Myryan? It could not be Jerial. Later, when he is truly alone, he will have to search with the chaos-glass.

…and with the death of the Hand of the Emperor. No one knows who the Hand was, as always, but word of his death still did get out. The Emperor himself was ailing for a time. So no one knows about many matters and may not for several days yet, and it may take longer for you to find out.

Whatever may happen, I love you and know that you have done the best you could, with your destiny and your talents, and we hope you will be safe and in Cyad before too long.

Lorn looks at the scroll. Safe and in Cyad? Those two do not go together. That he knows all too well.

He takes a deep breath. He needs to draft the orders for the five companies and their lancers. That is one problem he can resolve…and one he should have handled earlier, or at least considered before he did.