“You did it, too,” Lorn points out. “If you want to be a hero…that is. We’re going to compose scrolls, a great number. We report on the campaign, the results, and the proof-and the scrolls go to every lancer commander in Cyador.” Lorn smiles. “And to the Captain-Commander, the Majer-Commander, the First Three Magi’i, the Hand of the Emperor, the Merchanter Advisor, and to the head of every trading house in Cyador. And then we wait. And I’ll act in poor Dett’s place until we see what happens.”
“You’ll leave Inividra unprotected?”
“There won’t any raiding parties for a long time, Commander. That, you can be sure of.”
“Oh…you seem most sure of that.”
Lorn is, for his glass has shown him that no Jeranyi raiders are riding anywhere in the northwest Grass Hills-then, there are but a handful of raiders left alive in that area. “Without mounts and without weapons, the Jeranyi will have some problems. Besides, it’s spring, and if they don’t gather their scattered herds and plant-they’ll starve, and they know it.”
“A bigger wider blade…” Ikynd shakes his head. “Black-angel death…Alyiakal had nothing on you. He murdered half of Cerlyn, you know?”
“We had peace for a generation, then,” Lorn suggests.
“Do you really think that you’ll be promoted after this?” A note of curiosity infuses the commander’s voice.
“No. I think I’ll be summoned to Cyad. I’ll be offered a position advising the Majer-Commander. It’s too dangerous to leave me with lancers, and I’ve eliminated any immediate danger from the Jeranyi, and there are more lancers that can be brought from the Accursed Forest.” Lorn shrugs. “It’s dangerous to overtly kill a hero who eliminates a threat-not immediately, anyway, and a lancer who discovers the complicity and corruption of leading trading houses. The Majer-Commander will wish to ensure that all is well with the traders, and that, or something else not involving lancers will be my job-which will give them all an incentive to have me assassinated after I am in Cyad and safely forgotten.” Lorn smiles coldly. “After all, I’m merely a butcher. I can’t possibly understand the intrigue.”
“I’d offer you my job, were I the Captain-Commander. I wouldn’t want you in Cyad.”
“He might, but the Majer-Commander won’t. Who would want me with twenty companies loyal to me?”
“You have a high opinion of yourself.”
Lorn shakes his head. “Your picked captain went with me to prove me wrong. He was one of those who urged me to come here. You forget one thing, Commander. Lancer officers don’t like being used as counters in a wagering game, and when they find out that’s happening, they want to put a stop to it. Without firelances, and without a change in lancer orders, they’re all dead, and they know it.”
Ikynd winces.
“You see?” Lorn waits. “Now…we have a number of scrolls to write-after you see the blades and the records. You’re going to write that you gave me the leeway to stop the raids, and I did, and you’re going to report that there hasn’t been a raid in all the northwest in almost an season…and there hasn’t. Then you’re going to suggest that, now that Sub-Majer Lorn has accomplished the task set forth by the Captain-Commander, that he be returned to Cyad for duty there.”
Lorn gestures toward the door with the sabre. “We’re going to look at what’s in the wagons we brought.”
Ikynd stands. “You’d kill me, without blinking an eye, wouldn’t you?”
“If necessary.”
“The sabre’s in your left hand. All lancers…” Ikynd shakes his head. “You can use the sabre with either hand, can’t you?”
“Yes. Dettaur never saw that.”
“There was much he didn’t see.” Ikynd shakes his head, and the genial tone returns to his voice. “I will indeed recommend you return to Cyad. You won’t even have to force me.”
“You might even mean it, after you see how many cupridium sabres the traders from Summerdock sold to the Jeranyi.”
“The Captain-Commander is going to have trouble with someone like you who really cares for Cyad.”
“Let’s go look at the wagons, and then we’ll have the lancers unload the records and invoices into Dettaur’s study. You’ll have to explain that poor Dett didn’t want to have this revealed.”
“He didn’t, I imagine, because if it came out you discovered it, he’d never be promoted back to Cyad. He was always a city lancer.” Ikynd laughs. “You’re a true lancer, and you’ll never be happy in Cyad. You just don’t know it.”
“You could be right.” Lorn smiles and steps back as Ikynd moves toward the door.
LXXV
In the late afternoon, Lorn sits in Dettaur’s study, although it is temporarily, if not technically, his for the moment. A light and pleasant spring breeze sifts through the window that is but partly ajar and brings a faint odor of a flower he does not recognize.
His lips quirk, and he looks down at the copy of the report on his campaign and of the scroll he has sent to Cyad-and across Cyador. Then he looks up, blankly, at the ancient golden wooden panels of the wall.
Outside, in the foyer, are a pair of lancers from Gyraet’s Sixth Company, detailed by the captain to protect Lorn. With them in the foyer are the senior squad leaders who continue the administrative work for the compound and the outposts it serves. The sub-majer shakes his head. The waiting is the hardest part, as if he were sitting on a chaos-tower that could flare at any moment. Yet he has done all that he can do.
He stands and walks to the window, checking the lancers who patrol the compound, wondering how long he can command them and whether they will see scores upon scores of lancers arriving, or whether he will simply receive a scroll dispatching him to Cyad-or back to Biehl…or some other out-of-the-way place.
He walks back to the desk and lifts the small bag he carries with him everywhere-along with the Brystan sabre. In the bag are the chaos-glass that had once been his father’s, and the silver-covered book, and the originals of the most incriminating of the trading papers taken from Jera.
Lorn slips out the chaos-glass and sets it on the desk. He concentrates. The silver mists part, and reveal Ikynd standing by the window in his personal quarters looking out over the courtyard. The commander shakes his head and turns from the window. Lorn releases the image.
Although he has kept a close watch on the commander, he still worries about the man, particularly since he knows Ikynd is true to only the principle of self-interest. At the moment, Lorn serves his self-interest, but anything could change that, nearly instantly.
After a moment, Lorn slips the glass back into its wooden case, and the case back into the bag. Finally, he begins to write, although he has no idea whether this scroll will reach its destination.
My dearest,
There have been some difficulties with couriers and messages, and I have not received any of your scrolls, if there have been such, since the turn of winter. Nor have I received any others. So I know little of what may have happened to you or in Cyad.
I trust that you and Kerial are well, and that your efforts with Ryalor House have been rewarded. We have been through an arduous campaign, and rode all the way to Jera, where we discovered that many of the blades that have been slaying lancers have come from not just Hamorian traders, but even from cupritors and traders in Summerdock. This was a shock, and when we returned to Inividra, I faced a greater shock, since there were some indications I might be relieved of command because of my efforts in the field.
I came to Assyadt where Dettaur attempted to kill me. For reasons that are unclear, he did not want my report on the blades to go to the Majer-Commander. Much remains unclear, but Commander Ikynd and I have sent a report to the Majer-Commander, and to others, detailing my campaign and the blade-trading in Jera. The campaign was successful enough that for the season so far, there have been no raids from the northwest Grass Hills by barbarians. We also know of none in the areas of outposts controlled from Syadtar, but we would not receive such reports until much later.