Shynt deposits the foot chest carefully, then straightens. “Ser … I apologize.”
“Accepted, without reservation. Now … sit down and tell me what you discovered.” Lorn gestures to the armless chair.
“Ser …” After he seats himself, Shynt raises a single sheet of paper. “I could tell you the numbers, but you know them. Else you would not have asked. You had a few more casualties in your first season than the other captains. Your-Second Company had close to four-fold the number of fallen trunks. You have continued to encounter more fallen trunks, but your casualties for the past two seasons are less than any other captain’s in a season.”
Lorn nods. “Do you see why I wanted you to read those reports?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Did you talk to Kusyl?”
“Yes, ser.”
Lorn nods.
Shynt looks down, then the black eyes meet Lorn’s. “Ser … it be not my province to ask ….”
“But you’d feel more comfortable knowing what you stepped into and how it happened?”
“Yes, ser.”
“That’s understandable.” Lorn fingers his chin, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I am not certain that there is a simple answer. I’ll try. When the large trees fall, they create a breach in the ward-wall. With each breach, Accursed Forest creatures wait for lancers to arrive. We don’t know why this is so, and it is not written down anywhere, but it happens. The more trees that fall, the more attacks on lancers, and if the lancers are not very careful and very good, the more creatures that escape to attack the people and herds and flocks beyond the deadland.” Lorn smiles. “There is nothing new about that. But … you know there are only so many chaos towers that charge our firelances and that not every person makes a good lancer?”
“Yes, ser.”
“And you have heard that the barbarians to the north are mounting more attacks every year.”
Shynt nods.
“If the Mirror Lancers do not provide more lancers in the north, then the Emperor will not be able to protect his people from the barbarians. If there are more lancers in the north, but not that many more lancers in all the Mirror Lancers …” Lorn waits.
“There must be fewer lancers here.”
“And you have seen that this is true,” Lorn concludes. “But if we have fewer lancers, and more trees falling, what will happen here in Jakaafra?”
“Second Company must face more wild creatures withfewer lancers … and there is the possibility that more will escape?”
Lorn nods. “Let us say that one giant cat escapes-just one-for every tenth tree-fall. If three tree-falls occur in a season, how many cats will escape over the year?”
“One … three over two years.”
“Now … what happens when a company faces twentyfour tree falls in not quite three seasons?” Lorn answers the question before Shynt can. “You would have six giant cats loose.” He smiles crookedly. “I suggested such to Commander Meylyd in requesting a full replacement complement. It was not well-received.” Lorn shrugs. “We have done better than that-with only three giant cats loose, as I recall, but there have also been more than a few night leopards that escaped.
“I have changed the Patrol procedures slightly. We do not send a messenger for the Mirror Engineers until after we have been attacked by Forest creatures. We move toward the crown of the tree from the perimeter road, with two squads flanking it at a half-square angle, and we use but short bursts on the firelances.”
“Such procedures have worked. Your casualties have been reduced.”
Lorn nods. “I have been strongly requested to return to ‘traditional’ lancer patrol techniques, but I have been also ordered not to allow any wild creatures to escape.” A crooked smile follows. “Squad leader Olisenn was most committed to traditional procedures, and I fear that his inability to adapt to the new procedures may have contributed to his ending up in the line of a firelance. I do not know that, but that is all I can surmise.”
Shynt nods slowly. “If I might ask, ser … what patrol tactics will you adopt?”
Lorn grins. “I am informing Majer Maran that I am abandoning those procedures about which he and Commander Meylyd had expressed concern and that Second Company intends to do its utmost to stop any wild creatures from escaping the deadland.”
Shynt almost smiles. “Ah … I see.”
“Then we will see.” Lorn looks at the black-eyed squad leader. “So long as no creatures escape and I do not disobey any direct orders, we will doubtless hear little.”
Shynt nods. “Thank you, ser.”
Lorn stands. “I’m glad you’re here. Kusyl will introduce you to First Squad, and I’ll ride mostly with you on patrols to begin with, until we’re comfortable.”
As Kusyl leaves with the junior squad leader, Lorn closes the door, then turns. He looks out the study window at the gray clouds that will become more prevalent as winter nears, recalling the lines from the poem in the silver-covered book.
Provisions must be made.
Lorn has made them.
XC
THE EVENING is cold and overcast as Lorn walks across the damp stones of the courtyard to the stable, and the mist rising from the stones swallows much of the light from the lamps set in their bronze brackets along the walls. The captain wears two sabres-a lancer officer’s sabre on his right and the Brystan sabre on his left. He also carries a firelance. His steps are sure, silent, as he slips into the warmth of the stable and the welcoming scent of dry straw.
“Suforis?”
“Coming, ser.” Suforis scurries out from the tack room. “You going out tonight, ser?” asks the blond ostler. “It be mighty chill and damp, and with you starting out on another patrol tomorrow ….”
“I know. I won’t be riding far or hard, and I won’t overheat him.” Lorn smiles. “I promise. It’s just a short ride.”
“Be but a moment, ser.” The young ostler hurries off.
Lorn glances around the stable as Suforis saddles the gelding. As always, the structure is swept and clean, without atrace of cobwebs or dust, and the wood of the stall boxes gleams in the dim lamplight.
Suforis returns, leading the gelding and looking anxiously at the lancer captain as he hands over the mount’s reins. “I’d be going, ser, but if you’d not be long …”
“You like being consorted?”
Suforis flushes. “Ah … yes, ser. Much, ser.”
“Good for you.” Lorn’s laugh is warm and friendly. “I will not be long, but I can groom and stall him, and I would not wish that you keep your consort waiting.” Lorn slips the single firelance into its holder.
“I could wait, ser.”
“Go.” Lorn smiles before leading the gelding out through the stable doors and into the mist of the courtyard. “You’ve been here late enough.”
Outside, in the thickening mist; Lorn mounts and rides slowly to the open gates. The clicking of the gelding’s hoofs is preternaturally loud, amplified by the mist and dampness.
“Ser?” asks the gate guard on the right as Lorn reins up in the light of the lamp. “You going out?”
“I won’t be too long. I just need a quiet ride to think.”
“Ah … yes, ser.”
Lorn nods and guides the gelding out into the misty darkness beyond the walls. He hopes that the combination of the mist, the darkness, and the closeness to the ward-wall will preclude anyone using a chaos glass to determine exactly what he does. The sentries’ low voices are carried through the dampness to Lorn as he guides the gelding toward the ward-wall.
“ … got much to think of …”
“ … all do … not be an officer for a guarantee to the Steps of Paradise ….”
“ … not like as we’d be getting either such, Myttr …”
“ … none of them, neither …”
A faint smile appears and disappears, unseen, as Lorn continues to ride along the cross-road that leads to the ward-wall. To his left, he is aware of, but cannot see, the granite structure holding the northpoint chaos towers. Once hereaches the ward-wall, he rides to the southwest for perhaps another kay before he turns the gelding to face the ward-wall and then reins up, roughly midway between two of the wallward crystals.