“He just got here from Cyad,” Esfayl explains. “I thought he ought to see you first. He has dispatches from the Majer-Commander.”
“Ser, there are two for you, but one is for Commander Ikynd.”
Lorn looks at Esfayl. “Is the commander in his study?”
“I think so.”
“We’ll all go there. That might be best.” Lorn smiles wryly. “I could be wrong, but if the Majer-Commander is sending two scrolls to me, then I can hope for the best.”
A puzzled look crosses the messenger’s face, but Lorn does not elaborate as he stands and steps toward the door. “Come on.”
The messenger follows Lorn across the corridor and into the second study.
Lorn nods to the messenger. “That’s Commander Ikynd. He can read his scroll first.”
The messenger steps forward and hands one scroll to Ikynd, then steps back and hands two to Lorn. He eases back beside Esfayl by the half-open study door.
“You aren’t reading them all first?” asks Ikynd.
“That one is for you.”
“They’re sending you somewhere else.” Ikynd laughs. “Otherwise, there would have been companies of lancers here.”
“Unless they’re insisting I take Dettaur’s place,” Lorn suggests.
“I could do worse,” the commander says dryly. “You actually ask what I think.” He breaks the seal and begins to scan the lines, then looks up. “You can read yours, Sub-Majer. I won’t spoil the surprise.” A look of both ruefulness and interest appears on his face.
Lorn opens the first scroll. The message is brief, curt.
Sub-Majer Lorn, Mirror Lancers, Assyadt/Inividra,
You are hereby detached from your present assignment immediately upon receipt of these orders and ordered to report to the Majer-Commander, Cyad, personally, for assignment at his discretion.
The only unusual feature is that the orders are signed and sealed by Rynst, the Majer-Commander, himself.
Lorn opens the second scroll.
Sub-Majer Lorn, Mirror Lancers, Commanding, Inividra,
This is to commend you for your actions in undertaking a campaign to ensure the safety of the northern borders of Cyador, the Empire of Eternal Light. Your actions in destroying barbarian staging areas and confiscating and destroying large quantities of Hamorian-forged blades have resulted in the saving of untold lives of the Mirror Lancers and in resolving a potentially serious situation before it could worsen. Your immediate superior, Commander Ikynd, will also be commended by separate notice, for his wisdom in allowing you the latitude necessary to undertake this dangerous campaign. A copy of this commendation has been placed in your file at Mirror Lancer headquarters.
The second scroll is also signed by Rynst.
Esfayl looks from Lorn to Ikynd and back again.
“It’s all right,” Lorn finally says. “The commander and I have been commended, and I’m being transferred to Mirror Lancer headquarters in Cyad.”
“Congratulations, sers,” says Esfayl.
“I think you’ll probably be leaving tomorrow, when I do,” Lorn tells the young captain, then looks at Ikynd, “if you agree, Commander.”
“He can take the provisions wagons an eightday early,” Ikynd says.
Lorn nods toward the door. “The commander and I have a few matters to discuss.”
“Ah…yes, ser.”
Both the lancer messenger and Esfayl step out of the commander’s study. Esfayl closes the door behind him.
“You know what that commendation says, don’t you?” Ikynd’s genial tone returns.
“I’d assume that it says that you authorized me to undertake a dangerous and foolhardy campaign, on the verge of breaking every Mirror Lancer regulation, but that, since it was successful beyond anyone’s expectations, we are to be commended-and watched most carefully in the future. That’s why I’m going to Cyad to report to the Majer-Commander personally.”
“That is the way I would read it.” Ikynd shrugs. “It doesn’t matter much to me. They’d never have promoted me again anyway, and I’ve but one tour left after this before I can get a pension-stipend. Rynst doesn’t know what to do with you, but you’re too valuable to have killed, and too dangerous to let loose for a while. I’d guess he wants you around him, the way some men want trained giant cats.”
Lorn smiles wryly. “So that everyone watches me, instead of him?”
“Something like that.” Ikynd tilts his head. “Dettaur was dangerous because he was too self-centered, you know?”
“I know. If he’d been successful in getting me and my lancers killed, he would have found himself before a discipline hearing-or something would have happened to him.”
“Now…I’m short something like four officers.” Ikynd smiles ruefully. “I’ll have to draft my own orders.”
“You’ll have four more officers within the eightday. With the moving of the lancers out of the Accursed Forest posts, headquarters will be happy to have openings for a majer, sub-majer, and two captains or undercaptains.” Lorn adds, “And they’ll all be good, traditional lancer officers.”
Ikynd nods. “We could use more tradition for a while.”
Lorn steps toward the door. “By your leave, Commander?”
“I appreciate the courtesy, Sub-Majer.” Ikynd shakes his head as Lorn steps out and closes the door behind him.
LXXIX
In the early-morning light, Lorn rides toward the firewagon portico in the center of Assyadt, followed by the two lancers from Esfayl’s Second Company. The two will return the white gelding to the stable at Assyadt before leaving with Esfayl to ride back to Inividra.
As the three lancers pass the south side of the square in the early-morning light, Lorn can see a number of people under the porch of the Cuprite Kettle, the largest inn in Assyadt. Most of those on the porch seem to be watching him. His chaos-trained ears pick up the low words he should not be able to hear.
“Sure enough…that’s him, the one they call the Butcher.”
“Looks young…”
“…rode all the way to Jera…sacked every town…killed scores and scores.”
“…say he took over the compound here…made the head of the lancers in Cyad meet his terms.”
“…can’t be…just a sub-majer.”
“That’s what they say.”
“…looks like a nice young officer…”
“…what’s a real killer look like? No different from anyone else…”
Lorn keeps his shoulders square, and a smile on his face, even as he wonders how the whole town knows. Then, how could they not know, not when six companies of lancers held the compound for an eightday?
The three ride through the square and toward the white sunstone portico that lies another three hundred kays ahead.
“We’ll wait, ser, until the firewagon pulls up,” offers one of the lancers.
“Thank you. I think it will be awhile before Captain Esfayl is ready, anyway.”
“Rather wait here than help load wagons,” suggests the second lancer.
“Ser…how long ’fore the barbarians start raiding again?” asks the first.
“Midsummer, I’d judge. The raids will be small ones. I’d be surprised if you saw any large raids until next year. It might be longer if the Majer-Commander does something about Jera.”
The two lancers look at each other. Lorn understands the look. Neither ranker believes anyone will do anything. The three ride in silence to the smaller square that holds the firewagon portico. There, Lorn reins up on the far side of the paved way, in the shade of a weaver’s shop, waiting for the firewagon.
At the low rumbling of wheels on the stone pavement, Lorn turns, but he only watches as the firewagon comes to a stop under the portico. A handful of incoming passengers, which includes a young undercaptain, disembarks before Lorn dismounts and begins to unfasten his gear.
“Undercaptain!” he calls to the thin red-haired young officer.
“Yes, ser?” The undercaptain glances toward Lorn.