Magi'i of Cyador (50 page)

Lorn glances to his left, along the line-abreast of lancers, riding almost a hundred cubits apart now that first squad has but thirteen lancers out of the twenty when he had arrived three seasons earlier. The second squad has but twelve. No replacements are scheduled until the end of fall or the beginning of winter, and Lorn wonders how small Second Company will have gotten by then.

As he looks back to his left, as he takes in and ignores another zzzzzppp for a dead bloodsucking flowerfly, he can sense the intermittent pulses of chaos in the cupridium cables that link the crystal wards. Another tree is down across the wall, but how far from Second Company he cannot tell.

"Hot... never gets any cooler... be glad when it starts to frost," grunts Kusyl from the outer edge of the wall road.

"Then we'll have to slop through mud," Lorn reminds the squad leader.

"I think I'll take that."

"That's what you say now." Lorn grins.

As they ride through the afternoon, Lorn keeps looking to the southeast, until his eyes confirm what his chaos senses have told him far earlier. Yet another trunk has fallen across the ward-wall.

"Another tree is down."

"Five abreast!" Kusyl turns in the saddle and calls to Lorn. "Olisenn's already seen it. His squad is going to five front now."

"Set up the containment pattern for the crown," Lorn tells Kusyl. He no longer bothers with checking the trunk first. If there are giant cats, they will attack no matter where the lancers are. Stun lizards are slow enough to be chased down if necessary, and the night leopard packs are always in the crown. As for the giant serpents, Second Company has seen but the one in three seasons.

"Five abreast! Move out to the tree crown!" Kusyl orders. "Ubylt! Ride out and inform squad leader Olisenn that we're riding out to join them to block the tree crown!"

"Yes, sers!" Ubylt turns his chestnut northward.

As Lorn and the second squad angle their way toward the tree crown yet several kays away, Lorn tries to estimate the size of the fallen giant, judging that its base diameter is about twenty cubits, larger than many, but not so large as the mammoth trunks they have sometimes encountered.

"Think the forest'd run out of big trees," mutters Kusyl.

"With ninety-nine kays on a side to work with?" Lorn laughs.

"Didn't used to be so many."

"Maybe it was waiting for the big trees to get bigger."

Kusyl snorts.

The two squads join at the perimeter road to the northwest of the crown. Lorn estimates that the nearest part of the twisted greenery lies almost three-quarters of a kay from them.

"First squad... you take the left side, second squad the right."

"You heard the captain."

"First squad to the left!" booms Olisenn.

With roughly a hundred fifty cubits between them, the two lancer squads ride toward the forest crown, lances at the ready.

Lorn blots the sweat from his forehead, ignoring the heat from the continual sunburn on the back of his neck and the way his sweat-soaked uniform clings to him. He shifts his weight in the saddle, but his eyes remain on the crumpled green canopy.

The first creature that lumbers outward, angling more to the east and the first squad, is a smallish stun lizard-if a lizard a mere three cubits at the shoulder and fifteen cubits in length can be termed small.

MMMnnnnn... The silent mental scream halts several mounts, and one lancer sways in his saddle.

"First squad," Lorn orders. "Discharge at will! Now! Short bursts!"

"Short bursts at will!" repeats Olisenn.

MMMnnnnn... The stricken lancer slumps in his saddle, and one mount rears.

"Second squad, lances ready! Stand by," Kusyl orders.

Hhssst! Hssst!... The orange-golden-red of firelance discharges flares across the lizard, which, uncharacteristically, turns as if to retreat into the tangle crown foliage. The firelances lash again and again, and the lizard is still.

"First squad, let the second squad lead a little," Lorn orders, nodding to Kusyl.

The lancers of the second squad move forward faster, closer to the tip of the crown. Lorn looks back, and it appears as though the stunned lancer is beginning to recover, being supported in his saddle by another lancer.

Lorn glances toward the vegetation ahead, now well less than two hundred cubits away. "Company halt!" He reins in the gelding, watching the mass of green and brown, sniffing for the musky odor that goes with the cats, but for the moment, he smells but the astringency of crushed leaves.

First company reins up to Lorn's left, their lances at the ready as well.

The forest canopy is silent, almost too silent, Lorn thinks.

Then, both Lorn and Kusyl see the telltale shifting of branches and the rustling of leaves that always precedes an attack by the black night leopards.

"Stand by to discharge! Short bursts!" Even as those orders are in the air, Lorn has to add, "Discharge at will!"

Nearly a score of the night leopards bound from the greenery, straight at the second squad.

Hsst! Hssst!...

Firebolts from lances flare, and golden-red chaos collides with streaking blackness.

Three leopards converge on Lorn, and while his lance strikes two, the third flattens itself and springs toward the gelding.

Lorn slashes down with his sabre, reinforcing it with his own personally guided chaos force, and the night leopard drops, leaving but a thin scratch along the gelding's shoulder.

Dark bodies strew the deadland soil.

"Ser! There it goes!"

Lorn's eyes follow the sole surviving leopard. It has sprinted back toward the ward-wall, then to the east, and then outward toward the perimeter road well clear of any area where lancers are positioned to intercept the lithe dark cat.

"Ser! We can't catch it!"

"Hold where you are!" Lorn orders, ignoring the grim, almost pleased smile on Olisenn's broad face. He takes a deep breath, thinking about another leopard's escape about which he will doubtless hear, one way or another. No one will care that of nearly a score of the night leopards, they have killed all but one.

"Hold fast!" Both Kusyl and Olisenn echo his orders.

Lorn blots the sweat from his eyes with the forearm of his sleeve. He studies the canopy again wondering if they will see a giant cat again-or a serpent-or anything.

He has been commanding Second Company for nearly three seasons of patrols... and encountered a fallen trunk practically every second or third patrol. Is the Forest going to continue probing the northeast ward-wall? Even if it does, what could he do about it? Except position his lancers and watch every move Olisenn makes?

"Stand by," Lorn orders tiredly. "We need to send a messenger to Eastend."

Again.

LXXXV

Lorn glances at the scroll on the desk in the inner study, and then at the window. Outside, a warm drizzle is falling, and a hot fog rises from the granite stones of the courtyard. It is afternoon of his stand-down day, and he has not finished all the reports that have piled up. He cannot remember when he last had a clear-eyed moment in which to write Ryalth or his family, and he still must write a request to Commander Meylyd to pay the farrier for reshoeing ten mounts.

Finally, the lancer captain picks up the scroll from Majer Maran a second time and re-reads it slowly.

...while it is true that Second Company has been forced to deal with a singular amount of activity from the Accursed Forest, that does not relieve you of the responsibility for the safety of the people of Cyad.

Lorn snorts. It is not as if he has not already been made well aware of that requirement by many souls-beginning with the Patrol Manual itself. His eyes go back to the scroll.

Commander Meylyd has received more than a dozen message scrolls begging greater efforts in containing the creatures from the Accursed Forest, and I am hereby conveying his concerns to you. All in the Mirror Lancers know the difficulties of carrying out the duties laid upon us, often without the ideal support and supplies. This necessitates long eightdays, and fortitude not required of others. Such is the life of, and the glory of, an officer of the Mirror Lancers. As are all officers in the Mirror Lancers, you are required to accomplish your duties to the fullest of your abilities. Rationales and excuses may serve for merchanters and outlanders, but the duty of a Mirror Lancer in the service of the Emperor and of chaos is to comply, and the accomplishment of the unbelievable and the impossible must be the commonplace for us. To allow a single creature to escape from the order-death realms of the Accursed Forest is not acceptable, not when the lives and livelihoods of the people are at stake....

Lorn sets down the scroll and looks out the window once more at the steaming mist rising from the courtyard.

What can he do? Does he have any choice? If he does not bring greater use of his personal control of chaos to the fore, he will end up discredited. If he does, he may end up dead. After a time of blankly staring at the window, he bends and reclaims the scroll, then seats himself at the desk and begins to write his reply-his short reply.

I have received your scroll reminding me most persuasively of the responsibilities and the glories of serving as a officer of the Mirror Lancers. You have made most clear what is required of me, and I hear and obey.

He lets the ink dry before he seals the scroll and summons his senior squad leader. "Olisenn?"

The heavy-set lancer opens the door and steps into the inner study. "Yes, ser?"

Lorn gestures to the scroll on the desk he is sure that Olisenn has already read. "Majer Maran has more clearly outlined our responsibilities, and I have acceded fully to the scope of duties required of us. If you would make sure this reply is sent with the next Engineer firewagon... ?" Lorn extends the sealed scroll.

"Yes, ser." The senior squad leader nods.

"And Olisenn?"

"Yes, ser?" The oily politeness of the squad leader covers a deeper contempt.

Lorn continues to smile, almost blandly, waiting several moments before he speaks. "If I recall, is not the Accursed Forest the largest concentration of order and death in all of Cyador?"

"As you say, Captain, that it is."

"And does order not have the property of converting the power of chaos into sterile death if chaos is not used in perfection?"

"That be what the Magi'i say. Me, being but a simple lancer, I'd not be knowing."

Lorn nods. "Majer Maran has suggested that we must make greater efforts to keep the Forest creatures from reaching the holders and their herds and flocks." He frowns. "We may have to make some changes to ensure that forms of sterile death are restricted to the Forest, and that, somehow, we can do such without casualties. It will be a challenge, but, as Majer Maran has pointed out, that is indeed our duty."

"We've not been losing many lancers, ser. That is, not so many recently."

"True... but we'll have to stop more of the creatures."

"Order it as you see fit, ser, and we'll carry it out."

"I'm sure you will. Still... one never knows when matters change, and I wanted you to know that we have been ordered to make changes." The captain nods politely, waiting before adding. "It's been said that in the past, some senior squad leaders developed their own communications with the command in Geliendra. You wouldn't know of that, would you?"

"Me, ser? That would be against the line of command, ser."

"So you never thought of anything like that?"

"Me, ser? No, ser."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Olisenn." Lorn smiles. "That's all for now, and please make sure that scroll gets to Majer Maran."

"That I will, ser."

Olisenn is lying about communicating with Geliendra, not that Lorn has expected otherwise, but now it is clear that matters will change... must change.

After checking the Patrol reports he has written once more, Lorn puts them in the foot chest and locks it, useless as that clearly is against Olisenn's surveillance, but somewhat effective, he hopes, against Olisenn's understanding of what Lorn knows.

Then he steps into the outer office, but Olisenn has already departed.

Lorn ponders his next steps as he walks slowly toward his personal quarters. Maran's scroll is clearly an attempt to put Lorn in an impossible situation. Use of chaos by lancers is effectively forbidden, and now Maran has insisted that Lorn not let a single Forest creature escape. Under the current circumstances, that will run lancers and mounts into the ground, and increase casualties. Increased casualties mean fewer lancers and more likely more animals escaping.

He takes a deep breath as he enters his deep quarters. He paces in a narrow circle for a time, then takes the silver volume from its concealed resting place and begins to page through it, half-wondering if the ancient Firstborn who had written the lines contained in the imperishable pages had ever faced a Majer Maran. What sort of steps would he-or she- have taken. What provisions made?

He continues to page through the volume. Suddenly, he stops, and reads.

I have no soul,

but a nibbled kernel...

feelings dried and stored

on the shelves of self

in the deep cellar where

provisions must be made

Provisions must be made.

I made them

gleaning

those wild leftovers of

unharvest days,

hoarding hard-to-come-bys

of cold reason

against colder seasons.

Provisions must be made,

and I have made them.

Slowly, he nods. While not exactly analogous, the basic truth is there. Provisions must be made, provisions of cold reason against colder seasons. Perhaps... just perhaps... the Firstborn were not all that different, after all.

That does not comfort him, and he shivers ever so slightly as he closes the volume.

LXXXVI

Provisions must be made..." The antiquated words run through Lorn's thoughts as he rides the white gelding slowly to the southeast, this time patrolling the perimeter road with Kusyl and the second squad. He feels as though his neck and back get twice as stiff when he rides with the first squad, and it is a tremendous effort not to watch Olisenn all the time.