“Do any of you have any questions?” Rynst looks from face to face. “If not, the meeting is over. I will take your reports and read them. Then they will go to Majer Lorn, who will keep them for my use in developing strategic plans.” The Majer-Commander stands.
Lorn stands with the other officers, stepping back ever so slightly, and waiting until the others leave, each handing the documents he brought to Rynst as each leaves the study.
When the study is empty, Rynst turns to Lorn. “That is one function of having a junior commander at these meetings. Few of us have recently fought. Thank you.”
“You are welcome, ser. I tried to ask it as a question.”
“I noticed that.” Rynst smiles. “Muyro will still be irked, and the Mirror Engineers will doubtless have little good to say of either of us for the next few eightdays. And the lancers whose legs you have considered will never know someone was looking out for them. That is one of the difficulties of being in Mirror Lancer Court. All are angered at your questions, and when you point out defects, but seldom is any credit offered.” He shakes his head. “You have several days for the report of this meeting.” After a pause, he asks, “How is your draft of the plan for dealing with the Jeranyi coming?”
“Slower than I had thought, ser. I have developed a list of options, and I am working out the costs and the advantages of each.”
Rynst laughs. “Just remember that costs mean nothing if we lose too many lancers or the Jeranyi take our lands.”
“Yes, ser. I understand.”
“You do, but some of my commanders do not.” Rynst looks down at the stack of documents he holds. “You can take these in the morning.” With a smile, he adds, “I must go to the Palace of Eternal Light for the afternoon audience with His Mightiness. Have you ever been in the Palace?”
“No, ser.”
“In a season or so, once people start to think of you as merely my tool, I’ll take you.” The Majer-Commander nods. “Until tomorrow.”
“Yes, ser.” Lorn bows, then gathers his notes, and slips from the study.
Outside, he sees Commander Shykt, standing beyond the table desk, and Senior Squad Leader Tygyl. Shykt beckons, and Lorn walks toward the curly-haired and thin-faced commander.
“Ser?”
“Interesting point you made about the shape and design of the shields, Majer. You’ve had a great deal of combat experience, have you not?”
“Yes, ser.”
“How would you compare your experience in actual skirmishes or battles to that of most majers?”
Lorn frowns, then replies carefully. “I have probably had less combat experience than some majers because I was promoted more rapidly than many, but I have had more combat experience than perhaps half, and more recent combat experience than almost any.”
“A fair and accurate answer.” Shykt nods. “I would suggest that you write a short note to Commander Muyro, apologizing-very indirectly-for the suggestion about the shields, but noting that the Majer-Commander knew of your recent combat experience and that you had no choice.”
“Thank you, ser.”
“Muyro’s an idiot, Majer, but he’s also a cousin of both Rustyl and the Second Magus. He is one of those officers who forgets nothing, but learns little.”
“I think I understand, ser.”
“You don’t, not yet. My son’s an undercaptain at Pemedra. I’d like to see him live to become a majer someday.” Shykt nods. “Good day, Majer.”
“Good day, ser.”
Lorn walks slowly back down to his study. Shykt scarcely looks old enough to have a son old enough to be a Mirror Lancer officer, but every word the commander had said had been the truth, without equivocation and without evasion, and that bothered Lorn as much as if there had been some deception in Shykt’s words.
Then…truth can also be deception.
Lorn shakes his head.
XCVII
Lorn and Ryalth sit across from each other at one end of the long table that can hold nearly a score. Their meal is simple, a fowl casserole, with early peaches, and fresh dark bread.
Lorn looks up from his platter. “This is good.”
“Ayleha is a good cook. So is Kysia. At times, the combinations are strange.” Ryalth laughs, holding Kerial in her left arm as she eats right-handed. “You will see.”
“Anything would be better than outpost fare,” he replies. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed good food.”
“I have. I just watch you eat.”
“I’ve missed a lot. Mostly you.”
The red-haired trader smiles. “I know, and I’m glad of that. I had hoped it would turn this way, but I never counted on it.”
Lorn returns the smile, but his expression fades quickly.
“Something’s bothering you,” Ryalth says slowly. “You keep sighing and hesitating, as if you want to talk about it, and you don’t. You’ve been like that for several days.”
Lorn tilts his head. “I can’t keep much from you.”
“I can’t keep anything from you,” she points out. “Is it something from the Mirror Lancer Court?”
“In a way.” He frowns. “It’s stupid, and I didn’t realize that it was bothering me.” Lorn offers a lopsided grin.
As she chews a mouthful of the casserole, she nods her head for him to continue, and bounces Kerial on her knee in an effort to keep their son content.
“In my campaigns in Biehl and in Jerans, we came across more than fiftyscore well-forged iron blades and probably threescore cupridium sabres. I have no doubts that the traders of Hamor will be back with scores more. Possibly they are already. There seems to be no scarcity of blades in Jerans, and Jerans is a far poorer land than Cyador.” He takes a sip of the amber ale before continuing. “Yet…there is great concern that the Mirror Lancers will not have weapons, and the Majer-Commander is trying to plan for matters that will not come to pass for years.” Lorn shrugs. “That, I would ask you keep to yourself.”
“Gaaaa…waa…dah…” Kerial windmills both arms.
“I will, my dear.” Ryalth shifts the increasingly restless Kerial to her other leg before continuing. “Traders supply what folk want. The barbarians dislike Cyador, and will pay for blades to attack us. To allow such trade is to Hamor’s advantage, and to the traders’ advantage.”
Lorn purses his lips. “I can see the advantage to the traders.”
“Dearest…how does the Emperor raise the golds to support the Mirror Lancers and fight the barbarians?”
Lorn wants to strike his forehead, for the answer is so obvious. “By tariffs, mostly on trade, but he cannot tariff goods coming in as heavily as goods going out because, if the import tariffs are too high, no outsiders will trade.”
“He cannot tariff outgoing goods heavily, either, or we cannot sell as cheaply as others can, and if that is so, we will not send goods out from Cyador, and there will be fewer tariffs,” Ryalth says. “The lands across the Eastern Ocean have more traders, and the profits are great. They do not protect their traders, but simply let those who trade well, prosper.”
“So does the Empire of Eternal Light,” Lorn points out.
“But those across the Eastern Ocean don’t have any lands adjoining them. We do. So they need fewer lancers, and only ships to protect their ports.”
Lorn reflects. All of the continent of Hamor is under the Hamorian emperor, and no one can attack any of Hamor except by sea. The same is true of both Austra and Nordla, although it is but a short voyage across the Gulf of Austra that separates the two island continents.
“And Cyador is richer than Jerans or Cerlyn or Gallos or Spidlar,” Ryalth adds. “So the barbarians to our north can see a reason to raid us, if and when they can.”
“They hate us as well, and will pay for blades to exercise that hatred,” Lorn muses, “while we do not hate them, but merely wish to hold what we have.”
“They will continue to purchase blades, and Hamor will allow the trade in blades to continue.” Ryalth lifts Kerial. “Now…don’t hit your mother,” she admonishes her son, taking a chubby fist and redirecting it.