At the moment, I am acting as the deputy to Commander Ikynd in Assyadt, waiting to find out what my next assignment may be.
You and Kerial are well, I trust, and I can but hope it will not be that long before I can see you both under pleasant circumstances.
Lorn sets the scroll aside to dry. He reaches for another sheet of parchment for the one he will write to his parents. Then he pauses and looks out the narrow window and watches one of his lancers-mounted and riding a post. He can but hope that at least some of his dispatches have found their way beyond Captain-Commander Luss and that Majer-Commander Rynst will act as Lorn has predicted.
With a deep breath, he smoothes the parchment and begins to write.
Later, after he reviews the status reports from Pemedra and drafts a response for the commander’s seal, he will inspect the lancers and meet, once more, with his captains…and wait.
LXXVI
An eightday has passed since Lorn has sent out his dispatches. The headquarters compound at Assyadt has heard nothing, except standard dispatches about such matters as procurement of mounts, sent before Lorn’s report could have been received, and another caution about the declining number of firelances and recharges available-somewhat concerned-sounding reports from the outpost at Pemedra that there have been no barbarian attacks and no barbarians sighted.
Lorn has been acting as Ikynd’s deputy, drafting dispatch scrolls for provisions, inspecting the compound, drafting the request for replacement officers for Inividra, spending some time directing the arms drills he had scheduled for his lancers, and even, hard as it had been, drafting a letter to Dettaur’s family informing them of his death in the line of duty. Yet, still he has time to worry about what may come, and his eyes go from the study door to the window and back again.
Thrap!
Lorn looks up as Commander Ikynd steps into his temporary study, then stands. “Yes, ser?”
“You are so formal.” Ikynd laughs, before his voice returns to its genial tone. “You’re the one in command.”
“No, ser. You’re in command. I’m just not letting you do anything that will hurt the lancers in the outpost or the field until we hear from the Majer-Commander.”
Ikynd shakes his head. “First, my command is run by a scheming city lancer who is favored by the Captain-Commander, and now by a Cyad-raised, magus-born, patrol commander who’s the opposite. You’d think you’d been raised in Assyadt and not Cyad.”
Lorn shrugs, waiting for the commander to continue.
“What will you do if the Majer-Commander sends ten companies?” asks Ikynd, still standing by the open door.
“Walk out and surrender,” Lorn admits.
“You wouldn’t try to go out in a blaze of glory or some such?”
“That wouldn’t be fair to the men. I’ve tried to take the risks myself. They’ve done their tasks. I just didn’t want to get killed and have them die because someone like Dettaur was determined to put me in a position where I had to die or they did.” Lorn frowns and adds, “When it was totally unnecessary.”
The commander laughs. “If no one had bothered you, I’d wager you’d have died somewhere doing your duty.”
“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” Lorn admits, “but I couldn’t let lancers die when they didn’t have to. And I couldn’t let Dettaur keep doing what he was doing. If it hadn’t been me, sooner or later, it would have been someone else.”
Ikynd turns back toward the door. “One way or another, it won’t be long. The Captain-Commander doesn’t look from hand to hand.” He pauses. “Now that you’ve made me hero,” offers Ikynd, “how long will you dare to leave Inividra and the poor peasants without protection?”
Lorn fingers his chin. “Not long. I have been considering it. I think you should detail a company to stay here, and the rest should return to duty at Inividra, with an experienced captain promoted to overcaptain until the Captain-Commander decides.”
“Besides Sub-Majer Uflet?”
“I doubt that the Sub-Majer will return to Inividra. We’ve heard nothing from Nesmyl.”
“He’s the second senior officer to disappear around you.”
Lorn offers a faint smile. “Just a coincidence, I’m sure. I’ll draft an order for you to promote a captain to overcaptain.”
“I can’t do that.”
“The Code says commanders can make temporary promotions and recommend them to the Captain-Commander. There’s no overcaptain at Inividra anyway.”
Ikynd shrugs. “I had forgotten that. Who do you have in mind?”
“I would have recommended Emsahl, but Gyraet would be a good choice. Or Cheryk.”
“I’d prefer Gyraet, if it’s all the same to you,” suggests Ikynd.
“I’ll talk to them about leaving, and let them know.”
“It would be easier, one way or another, if most were gone before this is resolved,” Ikynd points out.
“You are right about that,” Lorn says.
“I am sometimes,” suggests Ikynd. “Commanders do learn something over the years.”
“You were wrong only in allowing Dettaur his head.” Lorn smiles.
“Was I?” Ikynd lifts his eyebrows. “If you are correct, I will be a hero, and he’ll be disgraced and forgotten, despite your kind words in that letter.”
Lorn bows.
Ikynd returns the bow. “I won’t keep you from meeting with the officers.” He pauses. “I’d like to be able to report that most left after the matter was brought to my attention. It would be better for you as well, either way.”
“I’ll talk to them now.”
Ikynd slips back to his study, and Lorn walks into the corridor and then out through the foyer. He stops just outside the building to let his eyes adjust to the bright sun. As he looks up, a after a few moments, he sees Rhalyt riding toward him.
“Good day, ser,” offers the undercaptain, reining up his mount before Lorn, who recalls that First Company is the duty Company for the afternoon.
“No word yet,” Lorn says easily with a grin, “as I’m sure you know, but we’ll be sending five companies back to Inividra shortly.”
The undercaptain nods. “I thought that might happen.”
“I’m going to talk to the others.”
“Yes, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.
“I think you should be among those to return. You’re only an undercaptain, and could have a fine career. The Majer-Commander is short of experienced lancers and officers, and he’s not about to waste talent and experience.”
“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.” Rhalyt inclines his head.
“Thank you,” Lorn says with a smile, before turning and walking across the sun-splashed main courtyard toward the north barracks and the shadowed courtyard where he has ordered his captains to drill the men in sabres.
As he steps past the corner of the barracks, the order rings out, “Stand down!”
The three captains walk quickly toward Lorn, who waits until they have gathered around him. “There’s nothing new. Not right now. I’ve been thinking things over. We’ve done what we can do here,” Lorn says slowly. “The Majer-Commander and the Emperor know what they need to know. I’ll need one company to remain here for a while, but it’s time for the other five to return to Inividra…before the barbarians resume their raids. For the company to stay here, Commander Ikynd will sign the orders…but I’d prefer a volunteer.”
Esfayl grins. “Well…my sister does live in the hamlet next from Assyadt.” He looks at Cheryk and then at Gyraet.
“You can have it.” Cheryk looks at Lorn. “What of you, ser?”
“We’ve either gotten the Majer-Commander to see the problem with the traders, or we haven’t. I’ll be staying here to see what happens. The commander will appoint a temporary overcaptain for Inividra. The outpost has been short one, anyway.”
“Best be one of us,” suggests Esfayl. “One of you two.”