Scion of Cyador

XCVIII

Lorn steps from his study and out to the table desk in the wide fourth-floor corridor of Mirror Lancer Court. There he hands the three sheets which summarize the meeting dealing with the failure of the chaos-towers and the impact on the Mirror Lancers, to Fayrken. “I’ll need two copies.”

“I can copy these immediately, ser,” answers the sandy-haired senior squad leader. “Majer Hrenk is still in Fyrad.”

“Thank you.” Lorn smiles. After nearly two eightdays at the Mirror Lancer Court, he has yet to meet or even see Hrenk, the Mirror Lancer majer who is an aide to Commander Muyro. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“No, ser. He’s inspecting the spring flood damage to the Great Canal. There were more giant stun lizards and more runoff. A message to Commander Muyro about that came yesterday.” Fayrken smiles. “Glad he’s not back yet. If it is like last spring he’ll have a huge report for me to copy.”

Lorn nods.

“Majer Lorn.”

Lorn turns to see the Captain-Commander standing in the fourth-floor foyer. Lorn bows. “Yes, ser?”

The bushy-browed Luss approaches and halts perhaps three cubits from Lorn. “I was reading your latest report. You write clearly and well, Majer.”

“Thank you, ser.”

“I do not think I understood how clearly and well. And you understand much.”

“I do my best to listen, ser. There’s much I need to learn.”

“I have noticed that. You also hear what is not said. That, too, is a most valuable talent, particularly when allied with prudence and caution.” Luss smiles with his mouth, but not his eyes. “How are you finding Mirror Lancer Court?”

“I’m finding that everyone here is most perceptive and intelligent, and that matters are far more complicated than they seemed when I was a field commander,” Lorn answers with total truthfulness.

Luss laughs once, not quite harshly. “Do not let the apparent complexity deceive you. In the end, there is often but one choice.”

“Yes, ser.”

With a nod as much to himself as Lorn, Luss turns and walks back toward the steps and begins to walk up to the fifth floor.

“He must think you’ve done something right, ser,” says Fayrken.

“I’d never met him before I came here, and I’ve only talked with him once-that was very short. I’ve taken notes at perhaps a handful of meetings where he spoke,” Lorn replies.

“He once told a commander that he’d best fall on his sabre while he had enough brains left to complete the job.”

Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, ser. I heard it myself.”

“I’d better be quite careful.” Lorn already knows that.

“You are, ser. I can tell that from how you write.”

“How come you aren’t an officer?” Lorn asks. “You’re brighter than many captains.”

Fayrken shakes his head. “My da was a weaver in Summerdock. Barely learned my letters, but I didn’t want to be a weaver. So I became a lancer. Then I saw that I’d die one day somewhere in the Grass Hills if I didn’t get to be a squad leader. So I buttered up one of the older fellows and got him to help me with my letters. After I made junior squad leader, almost lost my leg in a Jeranyi raid, and while I was healing, I was a clerk in at the headquarters in Syadtar. Commander Ryuk brought me here, five years ago.” Fayrken grins. “Now…ser…if I got myself to be an undercaptain, now…where would I find myself?”

Lorn grins back. “Probably in Inividra or Pemedra or Isahl.”

“I need but another few years for a pension, if a short-coin one, and I’ve a consort and two young boys.”

“In your boots, I’d do the same,” Lorn says. “There’s not much point in traveling the same ground twice, first as a ranker and then as an officer.”

“Ser?”

“Yes, Fayrken?”

“Is it true that you are the first officer in ten generations to invade Jerans?”

“I don’t know about the ten generations…but the first in many.”

“Some say…you’ve killed more barbarians by yourself than some whole squads…”

Lorn frowns slightly, then tilts his head before answering. “I’ve had the fortune-or misfortune-to be in more battles and fights than almost all officers near my age and rank. When you fight more, if you survive, you’ll kill more of your enemy. I’m not sure that killing measures much more than surviving.” He straightens and shrugs. “I’ve tried to do what I thought was right. Looking back, I’m sure it wasn’t in some cases. But if you don’t decide quickly, you don’t get a chance to think it over later.” For some reason the image of a young woman in an enumerator’s bedchamber flashes through his mind-another quick decision, perhaps good for him, but hardly for her, and yet at that moment, had Lorn had any real choice? He offers a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry…that’s a long answer to a short question.”

Fayrken nods. “Best I get on with the copying. Majer Hrenk will not stay in Fyrad forever.”

“Thank you.” Lorn turns back toward his study, and the strategic plan he has yet to complete.