Lorn snorts as he sets down the manual. Destroy the creatures, but don’t lose many men, and a wise captain will best know how to do that. Except that the manual offers no real tactics for such situations-just cautions.
After more time of silent contemplation, he stands and lifts the foot chest containing the Patrol reports. Those of the past five years, he reminds himself as he sets the chest on the clear side of the desk and unlocks it.
He re-seats himself, then begins to leaf through the older reports again, trying to check a nagging thought. He reads the last season of reports from Captain Dymytri, checking the events reported by the captain more closely, trying to focus on details that might just tell him something more.
… limb fallen short of guard wall from northwest mid-point Chaos tower … Casualties: 2 ….
… trunk [twenty cubit diameter] smashed through chaos cables and a single course of wall stones … attack by three giant cats and one stun lizard … one cat escaped … casualties: 4 ….
… long limb bridged ward-wall seventy cubits into deadland … night leopards attacked Engineers ….
Lorn frowns. Night leopards? He has not seen references to such before. Or had he overlooked them? He continues studying the patrol reports, apparently showing more than a score of problems.
… double trunk breach … rendered five hundred cubits of ward-wall inoperable … Casualties: 15 ….
… limb fall in heavy rainstorm … casualties: 4 ….
Just as suddenly, the reports revert to the standard, “Patrol on schedule. No Forest activity.”
Lorn sits back in his chair, thinking. From late spring to early summer, three and a half years earlier, Dymytri’s reports chronicle an outbreak of limb and trunk fallings which claim scores of wards, nearly three score injuries to lancers and engineers, and at least a score of deaths. In that time period, several dozen wild creatures from the Accursed Forest escape. Then, the outbreaks cease. And shortly thereafter, with nothing on the record, one Captain Dymytri disappears or is killed.
Lorn replaces the records, then adds his own latest report, and closes the foot chest. He stands and replaces the chest on the floor before the desk, then walks to the window, looking at the thickening clouds, and at the Second Company banner that flies above the barracks. The green-trimmed pennant with the numeral two in the center is held out almost stiffly by the steady wind, whipping but little.
Thrap! At the knock on the study door, Lorn turns. “Yes? Come in.”
Olisenn enters, leaving the door open. He bows. “A scroll for you, Captain Lorn. It arrived by private local messenger.”
Lorn steps forward to take the missive that the senior squad leader extends to his captain. Although Lorn can sense that the seal has been removed and then reheated somehow, he accepts the scroll effortlessly and without hesitation, stepping back and sideways so that he stands over the desk. “Thank you.” He breaks the blue wax without looking at it, even before Olisenn can move or retreat to the front study office, and lets the wax fall on the golden-aged oak surface of his desk.
Lorn begins to read.
Honorable Lancer Captain Lorn …
I am pleased to inform you that the goods youordered from Ryalor House have arrived and that, once you have inspected them, we will be more than pleased to deliver them to whatever destination is your desire ….
Lorn manages neither to smile nor frown.
“Ser? Do you require me further?”
“Oh … no. I’m sorry, Olisenn. It’s a private matter … not about the Lancers. It’s about some things I ordered.” Lorn smiles at the heavy senior squad leader. “You can go.”
“Yes, ser.” Olisenn bows deferentially, then leaves the inner, study, gently closing the door behind him.
Lorn continues with the scroll.
We would suggest a slight haste in dealing with the case of Fhynyco and the two cases of Alafraan, but remain at your bidding, honored ser.
The missive is signed and sealed by one Dustyn, factor in spirits and liquids, with the phrase beneath the seal, “Off the main square, Jakaafra.”
Lorn nods slowly to himself. Although he does not doubt that the wines are from Ryalth to make his duty easier, he wonders what else will come with the shipment … perhaps a scroll that has not been already read.
LXXI
THE WARM MISTING rain of spring enfolds the Palace of Light, and within the private study of the Emperor and his consort, Toziel stands by the wide window overlooking the harbor he can barely see through that mist.
He turns, but does not step onto the Analerian wool carpet of subdued green and gold geometric designs that has graced the study from the time of the Emperor Alyiakal. “I am troubled. I should not be troubled by this trifle, and yet I am.You have noted that my sleep has not been as it should be.”
“That I do know.” The Empress Ryenyel smiles knowingly, and affectionately. “What trifle?” she asks after a moment, looking up from the black oak desk at which she is seated, the sole item of furniture within the entire Palace of Light made of that dark oak.
“The murder of a trader.” A thin and humorless smile crosses the Emperor’ mouth.
“That is a trifle. Yet … if it bothers you, it may be the first shoot of a noxious vine. Tell me of it.” She smiles warmly. “That is what you wish, is it not?”
“I have no secrets from you, my dear.”
“Nor should you, not if I am to assist you.”
“You … you have always been of great assistance, and without it, as both we know ….” He shrugs and half-turns to study the mist.
“Enough of your flattery, my dear, welcome as it always is.”
Toziel clears his throat. “Bluoyal’mer brought the matter to my attention several eightdays previous, and he mentioned it but once. Yet I have not dismissed it. The first heir of the Yuryan Clan of merchanters was murdered nearly a season ago. He was killed by a sabre tinged with chaos, a lancer’s sabre, say the Magi’i. The day after the murder someone reclaimed an iron Brystan sabre that had been plated with cupridium. This merchanter used a stolen Dyljani trade plaque as authority and paid ten golds for the work. The cupridium master and his journeyman have been truthread by several Magi’i, and the truthreading confirms their tale. Both master and journeyman swear that the blade was in their care and not ready when the murder was committed. The journeyman also swears that the enumerator who picked up the blade was unfamiliar with weapons.” Toziel turns back from the window and watches his consort.
“Who is the new heir?” asks Ryenyel.
“Veljan-a man far more suitable, according to all. Yet …”
“Yet, what?”
“His consort is the daughter of Liataphi, the Third Magus of the Magi’i. Liataphi has no sons and heirs. And this Veljan is honest and straightforward. Too honest and straightforward, from all I discover.”
“That is far too obvious, dear one,” observes Ryenyel. “Liataphi is too intelligent and too devious to have done such. He would see that such a ploy would illuminate him as if with a score of lamps.”
“Then … who wishes to plant such an appearance? And why?”
“Who else would benefit, if far less obviously?” Ryenyel slips the cupridium-tipped pen into the holder on the left side of the desk.
“Rynst’alt, clearly.”
Ryenyel shakes her head.
“Oh … Luss’alt, you think?”
“Luss’alt would benefit, but he could not have created such a scheme. I would guess that the one with the most to gain would be Kharl’elth.”
Toziel nods. “When you put it that way …”
“What thinks your Hand?”