Magi'i of Cyador (66 page)

Hybyl nods. "He reported such before he departed Geliendra."

"For the record, Captain, with exactly what tactic was Majer Maran displeased?" asks Meylyd.

"My using myself as a target and carrying two firelances." Lorn shrugs. "There isn't anything against it in the manual, and since we're understrength, I didn't think one extra firelance would be a problem-at the time, that was still something like fifteen less than full complement, and it left the extra in the hands of an officer."

Another puzzled look passes between the two officers.

"Now, we have but half the requisite complement, and I had thought you might be here to discuss my requests for replacements." Lorn gestures to the single chair. "Ah, ser... if you'd like a seat?"

The Commander takes the chair Kusyl had shoved into the room, and Hybyl takes the armless one before the desk.

Lorn seats himself slowly, after the other two, waiting.

"Now, if you would continue, Captain... With an account of your meeting with Majer Maran," commands Meylyd.

"I don't know that there's that much more to say, ser. Majer Maran told me to use standard patrol tactics, and he said that I needed to contain the wild creatures without wasting chaos charges. He said that you expected I follow standard procedures. I told him what I just told you, and he said that sometimes junior officers needed to understand that not all accepted procedures were written out. He made that very clear. I told him I'd give up the extra firelance... if that would help."

"And?"

"He got very polite, ser. He said that I was not quite hopeless and that I had better act like every other captain, and that he would be watching me closely. Except that he said all of that much more politely and indirectly, and very pleasantly." Lorn shrugs. "I could not begin to repeat the way he said things."

A faint smile crosses Hybyl's lips.

"And what did you do after your ride?" asks Meylyd.

"I came back here. He said he needed a moment, and that he'd be back in a bit. I kept looking for him, but he didn't come back. I'd thought at first he'd decided to ride to Westend, but when his lancers came back and said he hadn't, we all went looking. We found his mount some three kays from where I left him, but we didn't find him. We didn't find any boot tracks either. You know that, I think, from the report I sent."

"I think we'll talk to your men, if you don't mind, Captain. I'd appreciate your remaining here in your study." Meylyd rises. "Then, I'll be back to talk to you."

Lorn stands. "Yes, ser. They'll tell you everything they know."

"I'm most certain that they will." Meylyd smiles coldly.

Hybyl does not smile at all as the two leave.

After a long moment, Lorn shrugs and sits down. While it may make no difference, he returns to drafting the last patrol report.

He has long since finished it, and trusting that his analysis of the commander's position is correct, grateful that, if his decision of how to deal with Maran was wrong, at least, the results will not directly affect Ryalth. As he is looking out his open window at the clouds that have gotten ever darker as the morning has turned into afternoon, he turns at the sound of voices and is standing behind his desk when Meylyd and Hybyl step back into the study.

Hybyl closes the door.

Meylyd motions for Lorn to sit down, then takes the larger chair and seats himself.

Both officers from Geliendra glance at the closed door.

"Everything appears as you have said, captain," Meylyd begins. "And all the men are telling the truth. That presents a puzzle. Majer Maran was most capable. So, clearly, are you. Yet the majer had no reason to disappear, and you were the last to see him."

Lorn waits.

"Do you have anything to say about this?"

"Nothing I haven't said, ser. I know the majer intended to do something as far as I was concerned, but he didn't tell me. And he never returned to the compound."

"His lancers found his mount."

"Yes, ser. I was with them. So was squad leader Shynt."

Meylyd glances at the overcaptain. "If you would go, Hybyl, and make sure the outer study is empty, and stays that way."

"Yes, ser."

Meylyd studies Lorn as he waits for the two doors to close. His mouth smiles before he speaks, but his eyes are cold. "We have a difficult situation. On the one hand, there is a lancer captain who is holding the most difficult stretch of the ward-wall. He tends to, shall we say, use lancer techniques in a somewhat different manner. But his results are good, and all the local... eminences... are pleased. On the other hand, we have distinguished lancer majer who is most concerned about the ward-wall and the captain. The two meet; the captain returns; the majer rides off and is never seen again. There is no evidence of anything. Even the horse tracks show that. Yes, I checked with the lancers on that. The two men rode together; they sat mounted and talked. One of them dismounted and walked and then remounted, and they rode southwest for a time and then they parted. And the majer vanished from his mount. Was he plucked from it by something from the Accursed Forest?" Meylyd shrugs.

Lorn remains silent, waiting.

"I asked for guidance from the Majer-Commander. I was told that it was best that I not act unless there were facts to support me. So... I guess there's nothing more to be said, Captain." Meylyd pauses. "It's clear that the majer had something in mind. A pity that he didn't tell me... or you. Whatever happened, it's also clear that no one will never know. Perhaps it's better that way." Meylyd looks out the study window for a long moment, as if considering whether he should say more, before turning back to Lorn. "I do expect you to follow the guidelines he laid out, to the very letter. Overcaptain Hybyl will be taking the majer's place. He'll be promoted to sub-majer shortly, and you'll send your reports to him. I cannot stress how accurate I expect those reports to be."

"Yes, ser."

"And, Captain, Majer Maran was very capable. I hope you understand that."

"Yes, ser."

"I intend to hold you to those standards." Meylyd rises. "And, to ensure that there are no more deviations from lancer tactics, your replacements will arrive within the next few days. They are on their way from Westend."

"Yes, ser. I understand, ser."

Meylyd nods coldly. "Good day, Captain." After a last cold stare, he turns and walks out, leaving both doors open.

Lorn wonders if the Majer-Commander of lancers really had been consulted, and if so, why?

Still, for the moment, there will be replacement lancers, even if every one has been ordered to report anything strange that Lorn does.

Lorn takes a deep breath.

Outside, a warm drizzle has begun to fall.

CXIV

Outside the Jakaafra compound's stable, Lorn slowly dismounts from the gelding, noting again the long scratch along his mount's shoulder, a scratch he has helped heal with minute amounts of the black order, as he had been taught so many years before by Myryan and Jerial. While in the lancers, of necessity, he has held his healing efforts to those which take little effort and which are little remarked.

His own uniform has rips in the trousers at boot level and more than a few splatters of blood from the latest attacks by giant cats and night leopards. He now has but one uniform left that is not soiled beyond repair and cleaning with blood or other gore-and that is only because it is the one that arrived from Ryalth with the latest shipment of wine. In his next scroll, he will have to ask if she can have another tailored and sent, although he dislikes asking for such, when she has given and risked so much for him already.

Lorn glances back across the courtyard, then shakes his head. He has already seen to the collection of the firelances and their storage in the armory, not that they pose much danger in their discharged state.

"Ser?" asks Suforis as Lorn leads the gelding into the stable. "You have another hard patrol?"

"Yes." Lorn does not elaborate on the two latest lancers Second Company has lost, or upon the cold scrutiny that falls over his every move from many of the replacement lancers.

"Sorry to hear that, Captain."

"Some patrols are like that." Lorn unfastens his gear, and the spare sabre, easing the saddle bags onto his shoulder.

"Yes, ser."

"That's my problem, not yours. How is Lesyna?"

"She be fine, ser." Suforis smiles.

"Good." Lorn nods and, in the early twilight, walks from the stable toward the quarter's building. The courtyard is almost empty, the lancers already in the meal hall, he suspects.

Juist walks from the small administrative building, glancing around, then calls, "Lorn!" The undercaptain motions, and Lorn forces himself into a walk demonstrating energy he does not feel, not after another patrol extended by a fallen tree.

As Lorn nears, Juist holds a scroll that he lifts. "Hybyl's squad leader came with the Engineers. Dropped this off for you. Insisted I give it to you personally." He grins and holds up a small leather pouch. "And this. If I be not mistaken, in here are the arched bars of an overcaptain."

"After all the admonitions I've received?" Lorn asks.

"Could be, just might be, that the Majer-Commander likes results," Juist suggests. "Meylyd likes to do things the way the Lancers always did 'em. Doesn't work so well, from what I'm hearing."

Lorn offers a wry smile. "What are you hearing?"

"Other captains losing almost as many men, except they're seeing half the tree-falls. Those reports go to Cyad, you know?"

"I know they go. I wasn't sure anyone read them."

Juist hands over the pouch. "Going to open it?"

Lorn shifts the saddle bags and takes the pouch, opening it gingerly. Juist is right. Inside are two sets of linked double bars, with the arch above them, signifying an overcaptain. He eases the insignia back into the pouch, and slips it inside his tunic.

"Told you," says Juist. "You're going to be someone, and I'll be happy to tell everyone I knew you-'cept I'll be doing it from in front of a hearthstove for years afore you're out of the saddle." The undercaptain grins.

"You're not upset?"

"Me?" The shorter and older officer shakes his head. "Lucky to be an undercaptain. Don't come from the right places, and don't talk fancy, and except for covering furloughs a few times a year, I don't have to mess with the Forest. Another three years, and I can take my pension. Few enough lancers get 'em." He glances at the scroll.

Lorn breaks the seal and reads quickly, squinting to make out the words in the dim light of the courtyard.

"Well... Overcaptain?" Juist asks after a moment.

"They're sending me to Biehl, to head the port detachment there."

Juist laughs. "Hard to believe. It makes sense. Give a good officer a tour where someone's not out to kill him every day... maybe learn something besides tactics."

Lorn shakes his head.

"Take the good, Lorn," Juist advises. "You taken enough of the bad."

The new overcaptain forces a smile. "Thank you. I'll try." Even as he speaks, he wonders just how good the promotion and transfer are. With a last nod to Juist, Lorn walks to his own quarters.

After lighting the lamp, he reads the order scroll again... and a third time. Then he washes up quickly, but does not change out of his uniform, and he heads to the officers' dining area, carrying a bottle of the Fhynyco. Juist and Ilryk have already begun to eat the mutton stew, overpeppered enough that Lorn can smell the seasonings even before he sits down.

"Didn't know as you were coming, lucky fellow," offers Juist, with a laugh.

"Is it true?" asks Ilryk.

"It looks to be," Lorn says.

"The bottle he brings says so. 'Sides, it was that sub-majer Hybyl's squad leader that brought it. Sour face he had too." Juist laughs.

Lorn uncorks the bottle and half-fills the three heavy goblets.

"At least with a sour face, you can read something. Maran always smiled, always looked like he cared." Ilryk pauses, then turns to Lorn. "You saw him last. He was headed to Westend, wasn't he?"

Lorn takes a sip of the Fhynyco before answering. "He was riding in that direction. He didn't tell me what he had in mind. Except complaining about the way I handled Second Company."

"He didn't like the way I handle my company," Ilryk replies. "He said I should always be well in the fore, so that my men could see me." The blond captain shrugs. "I am always in the front rank, but too far forward, and I cannot see where they are, and that makes it difficult to give orders."

Lorn shakes his head. "He told me not to be well in the fore. He said I was too far forward."

Ilryk laughs. "Senior officers." He raises his goblet. "May you not be as they, Overcaptain! May you remember what it was like to be a mere captain."

"You'll be an overcaptain before long," Lorn suggests after accepting the impromptu toast. He breaks off a chunk of stale bread and dips it in the overseasoned stew.

"One never counts on a promotion until the emblem is on your collar. Not in the lancers." Ilryk raises his glass. "One can but count on the wine one drinks today."

"That be too true," Juist agrees.

Lorn has to nod to that, and then he takes another mouthful of the mutton stew.

"Good wine," Ilryk adds. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it."

Although the day has been long, Lorn finds he can barely eat one helping of the thick and heavily spiced stew, and excuses himself early, leaving the remainder of the Fhynyco for the other two officers.

Back in his quarters, he reads the scroll again. From what it says, his promotion is already effective, and he can wear the new insignia immediately. While the next day is a stand-down day, he needs to get a message to Ryalth immediately.

He sits down at the narrow desk in his quarters, under the pool of light cast by the small lamp, and lays out one of the few remaining sheets of paper, then dips the pen in the inkwell. The scroll will definitely go by Suforis through Dustyn-early on the next day.

My dearest,

I have been notified rather suddenly that I am being promoted and transferred, almost two years before I expected such. Within three eightdays, I will be in Cyad, on my way to take over the Mirror Lancer port compound in Biehl...