“Ah … yes, ser, and a gold for a half-score of the smaller bottles.”
Lorn nods, and extends two golds, hoping he will not need to spend much more for at least several eightdays, when his next stipend as a lancer captain arrives. “Consider it done. You send my scroll-you will receive it tomorrow or the next day-with the shipment back to Ryalor House.”
“Yes, ser.”
“And for that, Dustyn, you could spare me one small bottle of the golden brandy to go with the Alafraan and Fhynyco I will take with me, could you not?” Lorn smiles winningly.“If I like it, and Ryalor House likes it, you might find more trade with them.”
“A bottle I could spare.” Dustyn’s smile is half-relieved, half-speculative.
“And you know that Ryalor House respects confidences, and expects its confidences to be kept?”
“Ah … yes, ser … many have said such.”
“Just so we understand each other.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lorn gives up a last silver. “For your assistance and continuing efforts, Dustyn.” He thinks the combination of implied lash and honey will keep the factor dealing honestly, and his own rudimentary truthreading skills indicate that Dustyn has not lied to him or tried to deceive him.
Lorn does need to borrow some cord to fasten the strawpadded sack with the brandy and wine and the two baskets to the gelding, and he ties them securely behind his saddle.
With a nod and a wave, he turns the gelding back toward the compound. Concentrating on all that must be done, his thoughts flicking from one problem to another, the return ride seems far shorter.
Once he is back in his quarters, with the three bottles of wine-one of Fhynyco and two of Alafraan-and the brandy sitting on his small desk, he opens the brandy and pours a finger width of it into his mug.
Then he sniffs it, slowly. The aroma barely holds the scent of melon, and there is a deeper and warmer flavor there. He takes a sip, and cannot help but smile. If Ryalor House can arrange matters quietly, there will be more golds from the brandy. If ….
Then … all of life holds its ifs.
Lorn bends down and opens the first basket. On top is a set of smallclothes, and then a lightweight summer shimmercloth Lancer tunic. Under that is a second set of smallclothes. Within the second set is a folded and sealed paper. He smiles and sets aside the clothing for the words written in Ryalth’s bold script.
My dearest captain,
As promised, here are some goods that may be of value in the seasons ahead.
Much gossip came of the death of Shevelt. I believe that occurred after you departed. The Dyljani Clan offered its respects to the new heir, in golds. They also presented an exquisite Hamorian tapestry. At the moment, all is calm.
Ryalor House suffered some loss when the Redwind Courser foundered in a storm in the Gulf, but not so much as many, and recouped some of that in other trades ….
Lorn nods. While he had hoped the ship would last for a few voyages, he had warned Ryalth, and she had acted accordingly. He would like to wait to respond to Ryalth, to take time to answer properly, but time he does not have, not when he will ride out on the morrow for another patrol out and back, another eightday before he can send a scroll in a manner he knows will reach its destination with far less chance of being read than sending it through the lancer courier system.
Still … he had the forethought to make arrangements with Dustyn-the forethought, and the luck, he reminds himself.
Below the garments, and wrapped in heavy oiled leather are several other packages-some cheeses, dried fruits, and nuts. The second basket holds a package of fine linen paper, three bottles of ink, and a cupridium-tipped pen that has clearly come from a craftsman. Concealed in the middle of the paper are ten golds. Also at the bottom of the second basket are more dried fruits and nuts.
Lorn smiles at the clear reminder that he is expected to write, and at the suggestion that the golds are to be used to ensure such missives arrive.
Once he has emptied the baskets and stored their goods, Lorn lights the lamp in the bracket above the desk, seats himself, and begins to write, using the new pen and ink.
My dearest lady trader,
Thank you for the Alafraan and the Fhynyco … and for all the manner of fine goods you have sent. You are truly amazing …. I have made arrangements, through Dustyn the factor, to send you a small case of a gold melon brandy. Dustyn recommended it, and I have tried one bottle. It has a good and mellow taste, strong as it is, and I’ve never seen it before. Perhaps it might prove useful and profitable as an item to sell to the Austrans or Hamorians ….
I also suggest you look into the timber gleaned from the Accursed Forest. It’s carried down the Great Canal and sold to coastal traders and Hamorians … wouldn’t be surprised if it made good shipbuilding timber, but couldn’t tell you why. The Brystans might be interested ….
Lorn pauses, holding the pen, wishing he could offer her more insight, for it seems that is all he can offer in these days. Finally, he adds a few more lines and closes it.
From your faithful partner, one most appreciative of the clothing, the sustenance, and the wines and the spirit in which they were all conveyed.
He lays that scroll aside for the ink to dry while he begins the second, also overdue, to his family, but that will go through the lancer courier system, where it will doubtless be read, and will say little that is not expected.
It was a long trip to Jakaafra, and it has taken some time to become familiar with all that is necessary here. My immediate senior officer, Majer Maran, is most friendly, and reminds me of my old school-mate Dettaur ….
Only Jerial will understand the full meaning of that …. and his mother ….
… patrols here different from those in Isahl … we ride three days, have a day of stand-down, then ride three more-unless there is a problem …. Jakaafra is the smallest of the compounds around the Forest …. I have met some Mirror Engineers and am developing great respect for their work ….
After he adds more pleasantries, and allows the second scroll to dry, Lorn seals both scrolls and sets them on the corner of the desk, for dispatch, in their differing ways, in the morning.
Then, he stands and stretches, before moving to the wardrobe, and slipping the chaos glass out and setting it upon his desk. He frowns. He has only felt one magus screeing him since he came to Jakaafra. Does the Forest inhibit such? Or does no one care about his actions in distant eastern Cyador?
Laying the glass on the golden-aged white oak, Lorn concentrates on the silvered glass, trying to call up the image of Ryalth. The mists appear, and swirl for what seems an inordinately long time, but they do clear and present an image.
A red-haired woman walks along Second Harbor Way in the fading light of early evening. Abruptly, her step hesitates and she turns. For a moment, Lorn looks full into the face in the glass, then lets the image go. He does not wish to disturb her-not too much.
His forehead is beaded with sweat from that short effort, and he can tell he will need practice, much more practice.
What of Maran? He shakes his head.
Then he smiles and concentrates on recalling Dustyn the factor.
When the mists clear, Lorn finds himself blushing, for Dustyn is within a bedchamber, and not alone. He quickly allows that image to fade.
Does the Forest inhibit a chaos glass?
He concentrates on the last tree trunk that had fallen across the ward-wall, trying to recall the location near the midpoint chaos tower and even the shape of the trunk that remained after the engine captain had fired the crown.
The mists take far, far longer to clear, and Lorn can feel the heat pouring from his brow, but he continues to seek the image.