Abruptly, Ikynd stands. “Not much more to say. Dettaur’s study is across the corridor. Good luck.”
Lorn stands and bows. “Thank you, ser.”
As Ikynd watches with an amused smile, Lorn opens the door and departs.
He crosses the corridor and steps into Dettaur’s immaculate and smaller study. The taller man smiles and stands, slowly, from behind his study desk. Several stacks of papers are set on the left side, although Dettaur does not seem to have been reading them.
“You look good, Lorn.”
“So do you.” Lorn smiles. “And you’ve made Majer.”
“Last season.” Dettaur motions to a chair and reseats himself. “You’ve met with the commander. What did you think?”
“He’s very direct,” Lorn observes as he sits down.
Dettaur nods. “He hides as much as he reveals, but he never lies. You present a real problem for him. He likes officers who kill barbarians-he was born in Syadtar-and you are obviously quite good at that.” The majer smiles. “You have also created a certain unrest, shall we say, in Mirror Lancer headquarters.”
“By killing Jeranyi who were murdering people all across the countryside?” Lorn raises his eyebrows.
“No. By using the powers of a senior lancer commander to clean up the dirty little bribery games of the Emperor’s Enumerators, to conscript the District Guards, and to call attention to how badly the Mirror Lancers had run the port compound by managing to double its size and turn it back into a fighting unit without costing Cyador a single additional gold.” Dettaur shakes his head slowly. “There is such a thing as being too effective, Lorn. I haven’t forgotten the lesson you gave me when we were in school. I know it was you.” A smile follows. “That is history, and we have a job to do here.”
“We do. What do you suggest?”
Dettaur purses his lips as if thinking, although Lorn knows that Dettaur has his response prepared. “Be careful. You’re going to be here a long time. The commander can’t give you any more support than any other outpost, and Inividra takes the most raids of all. We’ve also been told to expect fewer firelance recharges-something about the Accursed Forest chaos-towers.”
Lorn nods.
“You were right about the Hamorian blades. At least, I think you were, and that’s why the Jeranyi raiding parties will get bigger. When they get enough blades, more will go eastward, and Syadtar’s outposts will see bigger raids then, too.”
“While we have fewer firelances,” Lorn says.
“Exactly. That’s being a lancer.”
Except Dettaur won’t be out leading patrols, Lorn reflects silently.
“And don’t expect any brilliant tactics to get you out of here. It won’t happen.”
The sub-majer senses both the partial lie and the other’s unease with the statement, but only replies, dryly, “I’ve noticed that already.”
“You would. You’re here. I’ve never seen you make the same mistake twice.”
“I try to avoid that.”
“Good.” Dettaur gestures vaguely toward the open window. “You can have the senior officer’s visiting quarters tonight, and your pick of any mount in the stable that’s free. In the morning, you’ll take your own replacements out to Inividra. It’s a good two-day ride to the northwest.”
Lorn laughs. “Like all outposts.”
Dettaur stands.
So does Lorn.
“There’s one other thing, Lorn.”
“Yes, ser?”
“Ah, you anticipated me. That’s right. But best you also remember that what you do reflects on the commander and me. So if you do well, so do we.” Dettaur smiles.
“Then I’ll have to do well, ser.” Lorn understands that all too well. If he fails, it will be his fault, and if he succeeds, Dettaur will claim credit. And with Dettaur writing the final reports, and all couriers going through Assyadt, Lorn has yet another problem.
“I’m sure you will, and good luck, if I don’t see you later.” Dettaur flashes a last false smile, yet one more sincere to Lorn than many.
Lorn walks out of Dettaur’s study and through the foyer to reclaim his gear. He has a long ride to Inividra, and a great deal to consider in an extremely short time, contrary to what Dettaur has urged. It is most clear that, if he does not act quickly-somehow-he will end up being slowly constricted into an impossible situation. Yet if he acts too quickly, he will not have the support of his men and enough knowledge to succeed.
It is also obvious that the commander and the majer dislike each other, that both lie in different ways, and that they can be trusted only so far as their own self-interests will take them. Nothing has changed with Dettaur since he left Cyad to become a Mirror Lancer officer years before, except that he has become more adept in using others.
As Lorn lifts the bags, before asking for directions to his temporary quarters, he laughs.
The senior squad leader looks up. “Ser?”
“Just thinking, Squad Leader. Which way to the senior-officer visiting quarters?”
“Third building back. The second set of steps. They’re unlocked and the key hangs behind the door, ser.”
“Thank you.” Still smiling, Lorn turns toward the outer double doors of the headquarters building.
XLV
Lorn rides beside Yusaet, the senior squad leader being dispatched to Inividra as a replacement squad leader for the Fifth Company there. Yusaet is fair-haired, almost boyish-appearing, except for gray eyes that are as cold as the iron of a barbarian blade. The noontime post-harvest sun beats down on them as they lead the column through the narrow swale that enters the valley holding the outpost.
“…still another five kays,” notes Yusaet.
“They mostly herders in the valley?”
“Sheep…some goats, some cattle, and some do nothing except offer their daughters for the amusement of the lancers.”
Lorn winces. “That is not good.”
“What can one do, ser? The duty is hard; the men are lonely; most have no consorts, and many will not live to have such. As for the peasants, and they are such, their daughters are also livestock, for many are no different from the Jeranyi. They look the same, and they act the same, save our peasants obey the Emperor’s Code, even if we must enforce it with a firelance or a cupridium blade.”
“Years ago, I was told that the raids near Inividra were the worst in the fall. Do you know if this remains so?”
Yusaet gestures over his shoulder, at the column of threescore replacement lancers, and the five wagons behind that carry recharged firelances and rations.
Lorn laughs. “There could be that many going to Pemedra.”
“Nearly so many, but not quite, ser.”
“It’s getting worse.”
“I would judge that be so.”
For a time, both men are silent, and the sounds that fill the valley are the murmurs of lancers, the hiss and whisper of the hot wind across browning grasses, the muffled clopping of hoofs on the hard and dusty road, and the creaking of the wagons.
As they near the outpost at the northeastern end of the valley, Lorn studies it with care. The compound at Inividra could have been a duplicate of that at Isahl, except that it is set upon a broader hill, rather than enclosing one with its walls, and that the valley in which the compound is set is narrower, with more rugged and drier-looking hills to north and east.
The outpost is at the east end of the long valley. The outer sunstone walls are a good eight cubits high and enclose corrals and barns. The inner wall contains, as at Isahl, the armory and several long barracks-all built of stone and roofed in tile. There is also a raised water cistern and a spring, with protective walls running from the spring to the armory.
Lorn guides the big white gelding northward onto the short road toward to the compound gates. As at Isahl, four guards hold the gates-two standing outside and two above them on the low parapets. All four watch as Yusaet, Lorn, and the replacement lancers approach.
With a nod to the senior squad leader, Lorn eases the gelding forward toward the two fresh-faced lancers who stand by the open gates. “Sub-Majer Lorn, reporting to take command.”