The flames continue to rise, crackling a fierce orange, and thick and acrid black smoke, twined with plumes of lighter gray smoke, rises into the now-clear green-blue sky, forming a haze that begins to spread.
At the ward-wall, several engineers are working, replacing the smashed crystal wards with others, ignoring the flame that flares three hundred cubits northward.
The flames are subsiding, leaving the trunk seemingly untouched, when the engineer majer returns, striding briskly toward Lorn, who urges the gelding forward again.
The majer begins without greeting, without preamble. “The wards are working, and there’s little enough more we can do.”
“Do you just leave the trunk now?” asks Lorn.
The majer laughs. “We’re through with it. So are you. There’s a timber factor who has a contract on anything like this. There will be a team out here in a couple of days, and within two eightdays, you won’t know that there ever was a fallen trunk here. Good timber, they say. I wouldn’t touch it, not with the residual dark order in it, but they ship it down the Great Canal and then sell it to the coastal traders. Get a good price, I understand. The fees they pay help pay our stipends, Captain, yours and mine.”
Lorn nods. He understands the logic, but he wonders about the merchanters profiting on the deaths of lancers. “This seems like a large trunk,” he observes, watching the Majer. “Is it, ser?”
“Thirty-five cubits at the ward-wall. That’s the biggest I can recall. Be a few loads of solid timbers for the merchanters.” The majer smiles ironically. “More than a few, I’d wager. They can handle it. I wouldn’t. Once this dies down, we’ll be returning to Eastend, and you’ll be free to continue your patrol.”
“We’ll need to recharge or replace our lances at Eastend,”Lorn says quietly. “There probably aren’t a dozen lances left with charges.”
“That we can handle, Captain. I’ll see that a full set-of lances is waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Least we can do.” The majer nods, then turns and leaves Lorn.
Lorn rides back to the Second Company. They will have a long ride to the next waystation, a very long ride, that will last well into the evening. Even when the return patrol is over, he will have no rest, not with the need to request replacements and draft letters to the families of the fallen lancers, and to handle all the other details that must wait until Second Company returns to Jakaafra.
LXXIV
IN THE LATE afternoon, Lorn leans forward in the saddle. He rubs his forehead, ignoring the burning in his eyes, and the itching of salty sweat on the two-day old stubble on his neck. Then he straightens, forcing himself erect as Second Company nears the locked and sealed granite structure that is the northeast midpoint chaos tower.
“ … too bad didn’t put a waystation here …” murmurs a lancer riding behind Lorn.
“ … make too much sense …”
Lorn motions, and the second squad turns out from the ward-wall and follows the road that loops around the midpoint chaos tower and the low wall that connects it to the ward-wall.
In the fading afternoon light, as he rides within fifty cubits of the solid granite walls, Lorn studies the bulk of the midpoint chaos tower. Is it his imagination, or does the granite of the tower somehow seem less solid than the tower at Jakaafra? He frowns, concentrating on the tower with both sight and fatigued chaos-senses.
He shakes his head.
“Ser? You all right?” asks Kusyl.
“I’m fine.” He offers a laugh. “As fine as any of us are, anyway.”
As Kusyl nods and looks away, Lorn’s lips tighten. From what he can tell, the midpoint chaos tower has failed. There are no pulses of chaos energy flowing in the cupridium conduits from the building to the ward-wall, although the wards along the wall proper still hold and flare their chaos net.
The flow of chaos must be traveling all the way from Eastend and Jakaafra. Is that why the Accursed Forest is now attacking along the northeast ward-wall? Or had the tower failed years earlier and the failure been kept silent?
Again … what he does not know would fill endless scrolls. He rubs his forehead once more, knowing that they still have another sixteen kays to cover before they reach the waystation.
LXXV
AS THE SECOND Company forms up in the courtyard of Eastend, its compound a mirror image of Westend, Lorn walks toward the long building that holds the Mirror Lancer detachment, wondering if anyone will even be there. The corridors and studies are empty, and Lorn heads back to the officers’ dining area. With each step, his boots click faintly on the polished stone floor of the corridor.
There, at the sole occupied table in the dining area, he finds Majer Weylt and two engineer captains. All three rise as he approaches the table.
“Captain,” offers Weylt, “can you join us?”
“I fear not,” Lorn says. “My company is forming up now.” He bows to the majer. “I just wanted to let you know that I appreciated your having the firelances ready, Majer. Your efforts were most welcome.”
“Thank you for your courtesy.” Weylt’s eyes twinkleabove his thin lips. “I see you found another … appropriate … sabre.”
“There were some spares in the armory here.” Lorn’s lips quirk momentarily. “I’m not the first, I gather.”
“You broke yours?” asks the squat captain to Weylt’s right.
“Ah … not exactly. I put it in a stun lizard’s eye, and it dissolved, I think. At least, I couldn’t find it after the lizard died.”
“You … killed a stun lizard with a sabre?”
“ … and most of the charges in my company’s firelances,” Lorn adds smoothly. “We still lost more than a few lancers.”
“The lizard was over twenty cubits in length. I saw the carcass before we burned it,” Weylt adds. “Most impressive.” He nods his head. “We won’t keep you, Captain, but it has been a pleasure meeting you and working with you.”
“And you, also.” Lorn returns the nod with a bow and smiles. “You will pardon me if I hope we do not work together too often?”
Weylt laughs. “Indeed! Indeed. Have an uneventful return patrol.”
“We hope to. Thank you again.”
With a smile and a last bow, Lorn turns and walks back to the courtyard where he reclaims the gelding from the stableboy. He checks his gear, leads the gelding into the courtyard, and then mounts quickly.
While the courtyard remains in shadow, the sun has risen, and the deadland beyond the gates is flooded with light as Lorn lets the gelding carry him toward the waiting lancers. He frowns as he considers he should have looked for Weylt earlier. There are so many little aspects to his job that are not in the manual and on which he has not been briefed. Then, he supposes, that is true of many positions within Cyador and the Mirror Lancers.
“Wondered where you were, ser,” offers Kusyl as Lorn rides up to the head of the column where both squad leaders wait.
“I was offering our thanks to the head of the Mirror Engineerdetachment for the replacement firelances and sabres. He was out on his own patrol yesterday, but he was the one who ensured they were waiting for us.”
Kusyl nods. “He seems solid enough, if a bit brisk.”
“He has to cover twice as much ward-wall as we do,” Lorn points out. “Is everyone ready?”
“Yes, ser,” reply both squad leaders.
“Let us go. First squad will start on the wall.”
“First squad, advance!”
“Second squad …”
As Second Company rides through the gates and toward the ward-wall, Lorn wonders what awaits them on the patrol. Was the other Engineer majer-Gebynet-correct in predicting a rash of excursions by the Forest? Or will the ward-wall offer another quiet and uneventful patrol?
Thinking about the non-functioning midpoint chaos tower, Lorn doubts that many patrols will be uneventful, but ensures that a pleasant smile remains on his face as he rides beside Kusyl.