“No, but I believe it is, and I am fortunate to be able to share it with you.”
“There are times when I wonder whether I should have attempted to remain an insignificant magus, and times when I wonder if I should have tried for the Mirror Lancers.” The Mirror Engineer looks down at the wine left in his goblet. A wry and sardonic expression appears. “Then we have an event such as this, and I am most happy to be an Engineer. I’m glad I’m not a lancer. We are but expected to do what may be necessary, and no one lets us near anything, especially in Cyad.”
“We also do but what is expected.” Lorn takes another sip of wine. “It can be difficult to attempt more.”
“Ah, yes,” replies Weylt, “and yet the time may come when more is necessary. It is difficult to recall that at times.” The majer swallows the last of the wine. “Best I go, for we need to return to Eastpoint before too late tonight.” He stands. “I thank you for the wine, and the company, and wish you the best with your patrols and reports.”
Lorn follows the majer to his feet. “Thank you. I appreciate your observations.”
“Sometimes, that’s all a good Engineer can do.” He looksat the table. “Don’t let me keep you from finishing your meal.” With that, Weylt nods and departs.
Lorn re-seats himself and cuts another slice of cheese, his brow furrowing as he considers Weylt’s words and what they signify.
CX
LORN TAKES A deep breath, and blots his forehead. Despite the breeze from the open window, the study is warm, a heat of a spring that foreshadows an even warmer summer, he fears, and one that may bring even more fallen trees and wild creatures. The lancer captain has just completed his patrol report for the second uneventful patrol since the one that had involved the two fallen trees. He has heard nothing from either Maran or Commander Meylyd, nor have any replacement lancers yet arrived at Jakaafra. Lorn doubts that they will, but if he hears nothing after another patrol, he will again request replacements. He has also noted his requests for replacements in the patrol reports kept at Jakaafra.
He has just begun the summary report for Majer Maran when there is a thrap on the door of the inner study. He looks up to see Kusyl standing there, a slight frown on his face.
“Majer Maran, ser.”
Maran walks past Kusyl even before the senior squad leader has finished announcing him. “Greetings, Captain.”
“My greetings to you, Majer,” Lorn replies, standing, if somewhat indolently. “I had not expected you so soon.”
Kusyl quickly retreats and closes the door.
“I am gratified to see that you are so industrious on your stand-down day,” Maran offers. “Not that one would expect any less from such a creative and hard-working captain.”
Lorn smiles politely.
“I have received your patrol report-the one where Second Company encountered two fallen trunks.” Maran againoffers his warm and concerned smile, and the brown eyes beam gently. “It was a rather amazing report.”
Lorn shrugs gently, his eyes and senses fully upon the more senior officer. “It was accurate.”
“Oh, I am most certain it was accurate. Every report you have submitted has been most truthful in every detail you have provided.”
“And I have provided every important detail, Majer,” Lorn continues, “so that you and Commander Meylyd will be kept well informed.”
“We both appreciate that. Yes, we do.” Maran’s smile turns vaguely apologetic. “Captain … there are a few items we should discuss. Better alone, I would think. I suggest that we should take a ride.”
“Perhaps that would be best,” Lorn concurs. “Is your mount …?”
“He is tied outside. I will meet you by the gates,” Maran suggests. “Shortly.” He flashes his warm smile once more before he turns and leaves.
For several moments, Lorn looks to the open window, knowing that he must face the results of his decisions, and that, after today, there is no turning from his course, that he-he and Ryalth, for his decisions no longer impact but himself-are committed to long and dangerous years. He shakes his head. Being who he is, there never was another course, and all he can do is work to ensure she is not too adversely affected. That will be more than difficult, for his failure will lead to death.
He laughs, once, harshly. Turning from one’s dreams is a greater death than failing to reach them. A far worse death-that he has already seen in others-for one experiences it each day anew.
Lorn stacks the reports and places the thin Lancer manual on them to hold them against the breeze from the window before reclaiming the Brystan sabre and clipping the scabbard to his belt. Then he steps out into the outer study.
“Ser?” Kusyl looks up.
“I’ll be taking a ride with Majer Maran,” Lorn tells thesenior squad leader. “He has requested I accompany him. I would doubt it will be long.” He grins ruefully at Kusyl. “With senior officers, one never knows, though.”
“No, ser.” Kusyl’s brow furrows, but he does not speak further.
“I hope to be back soon.” Lorn adds as he leaves.
When he crosses the courtyard, he looks for the majer, but Maran has already left or is on the other side of one of the courtyard structures.
Suforis is not in the stable, and Lorn has finished saddling the gelding and is leading him out before the blond ostler appears.
“You won’t be riding him hard today, will you, ser? I could get another mount …? It would not take but a moment.”
“No. I doubt I’ll travel more than a few kays. Majer Maran has something he wants to talk about or show me.”
“Yes, ser.” Suforis’s assent contains some doubt.
“There’s no rain or chill, Suforis, and I won’t be riding hard. Or far.” With a smile, Lorn mounts the gelding. He rides at a walk across the stone-paved courtyard and past the duty guards.
Maran is waiting, reined up a half-kay from the gates on the road that leads past the chaos-tower building and toward the ward-wall. The majer’s mount is the same white stallion he had ridden earlier when he had given Lorn a tour of the ward-wall near Geliendra.
“You took your time, Captain.”
“The ostler was out, and I had to saddle up my mount. I wasn’t expecting to take a ride.” Lorn’s voice is even, casual.
“No, I suppose you were not. At least, not today.” A hint of amusement colors Maran’s deep and warm voice. The majer’s heels touch the stallion’s flanks, and the big mount carries the majer along the access road.
Lorn follows Maran’s lead, suppressing a knowing nod as the majer follows the road that flanks the wall connecting the chaos tower building to the ward-wall. They turn southwest on the wall road, riding toward Westend.
Lorn does not speak, just rides on the side of the road closest to the wall, as the two officers cover first a kay, then nearly a second, before Maran looks at Lorn again. “It is too bad you were not born five generations earlier, Captain.”
“I appreciate the compliment.” Lorn laughs. “But I like this time, thank you.” He glances back over his shoulder, but he cannot make out any figures near the compound, just the walls.
“This time does not behoove you.” Maran continues in his deep and thoughtful tones, almost as if Lorn were not riding a handful of cubits away. “You are capable, Captain, far too capable for a mere lancer.”
“All lancers should strive to be capable,” Lorn says conversationally, breaking into the older officer’s monologue, “as a mere beginning.”