With all best wishes and heart-felt condolences ….
After the third scroll dries, Lorn locks all eight responses into his chest, since there is no way to send them at the moment, and since he may reconsider his wording of the last response.
He closes the door and walks down the empty corridor, turning at the cross-corridor and going through the double doors to the courtyard of the compound. The courtyard is also empty, since Juist is patrolling the roads somewhere thirty kays to the north, as Lorn recalls.
On the other side of the courtyard, the stable doors are open, and Lorn steps inside.
“You’re about early, ser,” offers Suforis, the thin-faced blond stableboy, scurrying up to the lancer captain, “that be, for a stand-down day.” He glances toward the stall that holdsLorn’s gelding. “You’re not going to ride him far, ser?”
“Only to Jakaafra.”
“He’ll do for that. The farrier’ll be here after your next patrol, ser.”
“How many of the mounts need new shoes?”
“Could be a half-score, ser. Not as bad as undercaptain Juist’s mounts; they ride the roads, mostly, and it’s hard on’em. He needs most of the spare mounts.”
Lorn nods, then asks, “You said that you were allowed to ride the spares for exercise?”
“Have to, ser. And Undercaptain Juist, he uses me as a messenger, at times.”
“You’re good at it, I’d bet,” Lorn answers. “I might ask you to do that, as well, except it’s for me to send scrolls to order things. Could you do that, say for a copper a scroll-carry them to a factor in Jakaafra?”
“Did that for Captain Meisyl, half copper each.” Suforis grins.
“So a copper would be fine.” Lorn grins back. “Now … If you’d saddle the gelding.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lorn does not wait long before the stableboy returns.
“You best be riding easy, ser,” cautions Suforis, after leading the saddled gelding out to Lorn.
“I will.” Lorn smiles at the earnest young man.
The lancer captain lets the gelding set his own pace. It is not as though Lorn is in that much of a hurry, although it is far later than he had intended to get back in touch with Dustyn the factor. Then, when has he had any stand-down days to do so before this?
The air has warmed from the previous two days, but a light breeze from the east remains, making riding comfortable. Green has suffused the shoots in the fields, and the winter-gray leaves retained by the trees in the woodlots and orchards have turned deep green, while the fresh leaves are a lighter and more intense shade. The apple trees in one orchard already show white blossoms, although the pearappies’limbs are near-bare yet, with winter-gray leaves still furled.
The gelding’s hoofs tap-click on the granite stones of the road, a smooth way, but narrow, only ten cubits wide. Twice Lorn goes onto the grassy shoulder to pass wagons headed for the town. He nods politely to both drivers, and both nod back, somberly, without speaking.
Although the town is supposedly only five kays from the compound, it is nearly mid-morning when the gelding brings Lorn to where the houses begin to gather together, past the kaystone announcing the town lies yet one kay farther. Lorn rides past the yellow-brick houses, each with the green ceramic exterior privacy screens, and the trimmed privacy hedges that circle rear porticos. Most of the green shutters are open. With all the dwellings of one story, to Lorn, Jakaafra seems something less than a town, if more than a hamlet.
The single square in the midst of Jakaafra is small, merely an open, stone-paved expanse no more than a hundred cubits on a side. Lorn rides slowly around the square, making a full circuit before his eyes light on a building on a short lane just off the square. There is a narrow storefront, above which is a green barrel. Lorn hopes that the green barrel is the symbol for a factor in spirits and liquids. It should be, since Dustyn’s scroll had indicated he was “off the square.”
With a smile, Lorn guides the gelding to the granite hitching post below the narrow porch, and ties his mount to the bronze ring, slightly tarnished. He steps onto the porch and through the single doors and finds himself in a small room, bare except for a counter, behind which no one stands, but on which is a handbell. Lorn rings it.
“Coming …”
Lorn waits, but no one appears.
Finally, he rings it again.
“ … said I was a’coming.” The curtain behind the counter is drawn back and a man appears a span or two taller than Lorn. His straight brown hair is pulled back and held by an ornate silver clip. “I said … oh, Captain, didn’t know as itwas you. Captain Lorn, I take it, since you’d be the only Mirror Lancer captain around, and today being your stand-down day, I’d wager, seeing as you wouldn’t be here on any other day ….”
Lorn laughs. “I’m Captain Lorn.” He lifts his hand and shows the seal ring.
“And I’m Dustyn, factor in spirits and liquids, only one north of the Accursed Forest, only one’tween here and the barbarians,’tween here and the Westhorns ….” Dustyn bows. “If you would accompany me, honored captain.”
As he follows Dustyn through the narrow curtained archway, Lorn wonders why he is an “honored” captain, but he follows the older man along a corridor and down the narrow brick steps to a cool cellar. Against one wall is a long platform, on which rest kegs and barrels of differing sizes, made of staves of various woods. On the adjoining wall are racks containing hundreds of bottles.
Before the racks are three wooden crates and two baskets.
“You see … we have two cases of the Alafraan and one of the Fhynyco ….” Dustyn lifts both hands theatrically. “And of course, the two baskets of dry goods we accepted on your behalf, as they were so small.”
Lorn nods. The baskets are small, no more than two cubits long and slightly less than a cubit in diameter-small enough to be fastened behind his saddle. He extends silver to the factor. “I appreciate your care.” He smiles. “You did well to treat with Ryalor House. It is small … but not without influence.”
Dustyn offers a lopsided smile in return. “Indeed, ser. I know some who trade with both the Yuryan Clan and the Dyljani, and my inquiries, always discreet, you understand, they have returned the words to me that the Ryalor House is honest and returns value.” Dustyn shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously.
“All kinds of value?” suggests Lorn.
“Ah … yes, ser.”
“I will put in a good word for you, Dustyn.” The lancer captain smiles. “Perhaps we could work out something.” Hepauses. “I would rather not accept all these bottles at one time, and you do have some storage here.”
“Yes, ser.” Dustyn’s smile loses its nervous edge. “If you would wish a few bottles every eightday … for a small fee ….”
“How small?” asks Lorn warily.
“Very small-a half copper an eightday?”
“We have an agreement.” Lorn extends another silver. “This should accommodate you until fall, should it not?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Do you know a holder named Kylynzar?” asks Lorn. “From somewhere around here?”
“Kylynzar? Yes, ser. A most respected man. He holds much land to the north, in the red hills, and he grows melons, and some of them he turns into the gold melon brandy. It is good brandy, though most in Jakaafra prefer the rice beer or the ale.”
“Hmmm … do you have a bottle of the brandy?”
“I have several … more than several.”
Lorn nods. “I have a suggestion. I will be sending a scroll to someone I know at Ryalor House. You can make those arrangements, can. you not?”
“It would have to accompany some goods … or for a fee ….”
“The golden melon brandy. I would suggest sending a small case to Ryalor House. A gold in shipping?”