He looks around the room as he unrolls the scrolls and sets the pile before him. He realizes he is wagering much on what he is about to do, but he needs to know how they will react. After a long moment of silence, he says, “Most of you have asked about the patrol schedule for the spring. For the moment, I’m not going to post one.”
He waits again, noting the faint frown on Quytyl’s face, and the eyebrows that Esfayl raises momentarily. “Instead, I’d like to read you all something.” He pauses. “These are all dispatches I have received from Assyadt over the past several eightdays.” He picks up the first scroll.
We regret to inform you that you can expect no more than three firelance recharges, as the Commander has conveyed earlier in the year…
Then he reads from the second.
We cannot supply any spare mounts, and will not be able to do so until at least sometime in late spring or early summer…
And the third.
We must also insist that you refrain from the practice of using multi-company patrols. Mirror Lancers must be able to take on significantly larger barbarian forces without needing to rely on additional lancers…
Emsahl snorts…loudly.
Lorn picks up the last scroll and reads.
Further, it is most strongly suggested that you relieve your least effective company commander and take personal command of that company…
Lorn waits, letting the words sink in before he speaks again. “Those all came over the course of the winter. This morning, I received yet another such scroll, which repeats all of those messages and adds another. I’d like to read that as well.” Lorn clears his throat and reads Dettaur’s latest scroll in its entirety. As he reads, he surveys the room, and from what he can sense, most of the officers are disturbed.
As he finishes reading the last scroll, Lorn sets it down on the table before him. He looks across the six faces, again studying them before he speaks. “I’ll leave these here for each of you to read so that you can see for yourself that I have not made up or distorted the language.” He pauses and lets the silence draw out. The room remains still for a long time.
“Ser…were those all from either Majer Dettaur or Commander Ikynd?” asks Esfayl.
Lorn nods.
“We lost fewer lancers last fall than any time since I’ve been here,” Emsahl says slowly. “And you tell us that-”
“No. I’m not saying that. Those were dispatches from Majer Dettaur on behalf of Commander Ikynd.”
“Never was much of a patrol commander…” suggests the normally silent Cheryk. “Worse than Sasyk, and he was a sour pearapple…”
Gyraet’s eyebrows lift.
“Well, he wasn’t. He’d always take on the biggest barbarian, and forget about the rest of the lancers.”
Lorn clears his throat, loudly. Cheryk’s words will be more effective later, when Lorn is not around. “I wanted you all to know the kind of suggestions I’ve been receiving.” He smiles. “I’d like you all to consider that I have not yet been forbidden to use multi-company patrols. And I have not been ordered to relieve one of you. ‘Strongly recommended,’ but not ordered.”
“It sounds like that won’t be long,” suggests Emsahl.
“If we keep doing things the way we have been, I’m sure that’s true. If each of you patrols by yourself, we’re going to take some heavy losses.” Lorn pauses.
Emsahl smiles. “I’m thinking, ser, that you got an idea. Elsewise, you wouldn’t be having us here.”
“I do.” Lorn nods. “It’s something different. Commander Ikynd told me we could go where we wanted once we were in Jeranyi territory. I think it might be a good idea to put a stop to some of these raids where they ought to be stopped-over in Jerans-and I believe we can do it. We’ll have to do it before I get any more dispatches.” Lorn lifts the most recent scroll. “I got this one today, and it will probably be two eightdays before we’re sent any more provisions, and dispatches.”
“You’re thinking of going into Jerans?” asks Gyraet.
Lorn nods. “We had better odds when I tracked down the raiders in Biehl and hit them when they didn’t expect it. If we wait…they’ll just gather more and more barbarians.”
“Pretty risky…” offers Gyraet.
“Not so risky as fighting eightscore with one company,” suggests Cheryk. “That’s what it’s coming to, these days, if the sub-majer follows those directives.”
“What if they attack here?” asks Esfayl.
“That’s a good question.” Lorn smiles. “But if we strike first, what barbarian will dare leave his homeland to attack Cyador while we white devils are in Jerans?”
“No…they’d not be doing that,” affirms Emsahl. After a moment, he grins. “When do we start, Majer?”
“How about next twoday?” Lorn smiles grimly.
LIX
In the glow of his quarters’ study lamp, Lorn looks over the maps yet again, checking the routes, the planned stops, the possible points of conflict-and the places that must be destroyed. He has not told any of the captains his exact plans, only that an unnamed town on the South Branch of the River Jeryna is their first goal. That much is true, for it is one of the towns where the raiders gather, and not all have yet gathered, but enough have, and so have their mounts.
Slowly, he puts the maps in the order he wishes, then rolls them up and ties them into a single bundle.
Tomorrow all six companies of Mirror Lancers will pull out of Inividra, something that has never been done before. So far as the stories and the records tell, no one has ever combined more than two companies of Mirror Lancers in making an attack, not in recent generations.
His lips curl. He may find out why that is so, but he can only do what he feels is best, for the older tactics are less and less effective, and the chaos-towers are failing. And Lorn, child of Cyad, will not stand and watch.
He laughs softly, mirthlessly. He also has no real choices, for to follow Dettaur’s instructions will mean either death or disgrace in slow increments, for Dett is most excellent in political maneuverings-far, far better than Lorn.
In the darkness, Lorn takes out the chaos-glass and sets it on the desk before him. His head still aches slightly from the use of the glass in the late afternoon, but he would see Ryalth and Kerial a last time before he casts his fate to chaos.
When the silver mists part, he watches the sleeping pair only for a few moments before he releases the image. He would not disturb their sleep.
While the chaos-glass will be in its wooden case in his saddlebags, he doubts he will have either the time or privacy to use it-but for an extended campaign he dares not leave it behind, either, not with Dettaur watching everything he does.
There is one more thing that will accompany him-Ryalth’s ancient silver-covered book. He holds the volume for a time before opening it, wondering not for the first time how her mother came to have it, and whether it means, as he believes, that she is nearly as much of a child of the Magi’i as he is. He laughs, softly, for the Magi’i will claim neither of them.
Then he pages through to see if any of the ancient verses call up echoes of what he feels, looking out at darkness and an uncertain future. He finds one, whose words strike him in a different way, as they often do, when his choices and circumstances have changed. He reads aloud, softly, to himself.
We stand in a world we did not know
reaping lives and deaths we did not sow.
Some reach for roses of another place,
a world beyond chaos in time and space.
Some raise copper blades, strangely graced,
to destroy new truths that cannot be faced.
Chaos is, as the river and the hills,
and I will live my life as chaos wills,
for Mirror Towers have fallen from the skies,
and venerated truths become but lies
when held as orders from our ill-starred past,
talismans to recall what cannot last.