“The commander would prefer Gyraet,” Lorn says, looking at Cheryk. “It could be either of you two.”
Cheryk nods. “Not that I wouldn’t like the rank, but Gyraet’d be better for now.”
Gyraet flushes. “I have not been at Inividra long.”
“You’ll do,” says Cheryk. “And you have to write all the reports.”
“Ser…” Gyraet begins. “This…I did not…”
“I know.” Lorn looks at Gyraet. “I hope you can handle it. I think it’s better this way, and I think you two and Rhalyt need to prepare to leave first thing in the morning. I’ll arrange for as many firelances as I can find for you. I’ve already drafted and the commander has signed a request for replacement officers. There will be raids by late summer, I think. Not much before, and they’ll be small raids on isolated hamlets. So you will need to go back to one-company patrols.” Lorn grins. “I’m not saying that to make the commander happy. If nothing happens, by a year or two from now, you may need to resume larger patrols, but I don’t think the barbarians have enough men for large raids now.”
“I’ll wager they don’t,” says Esfayl.
“You’ll have to rotate taking Second and Fifth Companies,” Lorn says, “until you get the replacement officers.”
“We’ve done worse, and there won’t be raids for a time,” Cheryk says. “Are you sure matters here are settled?”
“As settled as we can make them.” Lorn shrugs. “And I wouldn’t want any peasants-or lancers-to suffer. If everyone is under proper orders, then I doubt there will be many problems.”
“Yes, ser.”
“I’ll make sure you all have orders by this evening.”
As he turns and recrosses the courtyard, he hears the low voices.
“…doesn’t look good…”
“…always looked out for his men…”
“…angel-fire few officers like that…”
Lorn has no more than returned to the study and reseated himself at the desk he occupies when there is a knock on the door, and a squad leader-Gryal-peers in.
“Ser?”
“Come on in.”
Gryal steps forward and hands Lorn a scroll, one with a blue seal and bound in a blue ribbon. “This came in for you with the couriers. Thought you ought to get it personal.”
“Thank you. I suspect it’s from my consort. Her earlier scrolls never reached Inividra.”
“There was word about that…”
“Were there any other dispatches?”
“No, ser. But word is that you get everything first.” Gryal grins. “Way it ought to be.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem, ser. The squad leader bows and backs out.
Lorn lifts the scroll, then breaks the seal and begins to read.
My dearest lancer,
I have received the first scroll from you in seasons, but I knew, as you know, that you care, and now I know why there were no scrolls.
Jerial says that she is not surprised by your former classmate, nor am I surprised at what you discovered in Jera, or that you have found yourself in Assyadt. In my own poor way, I have passed on the information you have sent, and spoken, if briefly, to Vyanat’mer, He already knew and had read your official report, and he appreciated that you had seen fit to inform him so that he was not surprised in meeting with His Mightiness.
I do not know what will come of your actions and report. Much is in turmoil here, with your family, as you know…
Lorn swallows. His family? His parents? Myryan? It could not be Jerial. Later, when he is truly alone, he will have to search with the chaos-glass.
…and with the death of the Hand of the Emperor. No one knows who the Hand was, as always, but word of his death still did get out. The Emperor himself was ailing for a time. So no one knows about many matters and may not for several days yet, and it may take longer for you to find out.
Whatever may happen, I love you and know that you have done the best you could, with your destiny and your talents, and we hope you will be safe and in Cyad before too long.
Lorn looks at the scroll. Safe and in Cyad? Those two do not go together. That he knows all too well.
He takes a deep breath. He needs to draft the orders for the five companies and their lancers. That is one problem he can resolve…and one he should have handled earlier, or at least considered before he did.
LXXVII
In the darkness and quiet of the quarters for visiting senior officers, Lorn sets the chaos-glass on the narrow desk. He takes a long slow breath, and then concentrates. The silver mists fill the glass, then swirl and finally part. But the glass is blank, an opaque and silvered shimmering blankness.
He lets go of the image he has sought, and tries a second time, this time thinking about his mother, about the conversation that they had had on the portico in a cold wind so many years before. But once more, the mists reveal only the silver blankness.
Lorn can feel the perspiration on his forehead, despite the warmth of the late-spring evening. For a time longer, he sits in the dimness, wondering if he has lost the ability to control the image in the glass, because of his fears or the strains upon him.
Then he tries again, and this time the mists reveal Ryalth and Kerial-asleep on the ornate bed. Ryalth turns, as if restlessly, and Lorn releases the image, reluctantly, but glad that she and Kerial appear well.
He tries once more for the first image…and is rewarded again with the silvered blankness that fills the circular glass. When he stops concentrating and the glass clears, his eyes burn. That blankness must mean that his parents are dead, and they have been dead for at least a time, because of the tone of Ryalth’s letter. She had written as if their deaths had occurred eightdays in the past.
That is yet another reason for Dettaur’s death-except Lorn almost wishes he had made Dettaur’s end far more painful. Why had Dettaur been so petty? He still could have sought to discredit Lorn without such smallness.
Lorn shakes his head. Even as he understands, he does not.
Finally, in the dimness of the single oil lamp, he picks up the silver-covered book, leafing through it until his eyes find a verse.
Ashes to ashes
and dust to dust…
Chaos to order and back to flame
brings back no songs without name…
Except…except Lorn will remember, remember words of concern, words of advice, guidance he had not known his parents had even exerted or offered.
He looks sightlessly into the darkness.
LXXVIII
Lorn looks out into the gray late afternoon. While it has rained earlier, the clouds have lifted some, and the heavy rain has subsided into a light mist. A fog rises from the stones of the courtyard.
Three days earlier, Gyraet and five of the six lancer companies from Inividra had left on their return. The officers had been both concerned about Lorn and relieved to be heading back. Lorn can understand both sets of feelings, and remains grateful for their concern. Surprisingly, at least to Lorn, after all those chill touches on the Jeran campaign, he has not felt the touch of a single chaos-glass. Does that mean that the Majer-Commander does not trust the Magi’i in dealing with Lorn? Lorn is not certain whether that is to his benefit or not. His eyes take in the gray clouds once more. Is the delay because of the delicate situation with the Emperor? Or because the Captain-Commander or the Majer-Commander is gathering Mirror Lancer companies to send to Assyadt? That would seem unlikely, yet Dettaur’s pettiness in destroying personal scrolls to Lorn also had been unlikely, for such destruction had done nothing to advance Dettaur.
Lorn shakes his head, reminding himself that he has certainly not been above pettiness.
Thrap.
The worried sub-majer’s head snaps up at the knock. “Yes? Come in.”
“Majer…?” Esfayl steps into the study with a lancer.
The lancer, who bears the green braid of a special messenger from the Majer-Commander, carries a dispatch pack and glances nervously from Lorn to the dark-haired captain, and then back to Lorn.