Magi'i of Cyador

CXI

AS SECOND COMPANY rides slowly toward the gates of the compound at Jakaafra, Lorn looks down at his bloodsplattered trousers, and then at the depleted firelance in the holder. The sun is almost touching the western horizon, outlining the silhouettes of distant orchards to the west, and casting long shadows from the walls of the compound.

Lorn does not look back at a company that is now really but the size of a single full-strength squad, nor at the three mounts that bear dead lancers. They have not permitted any wild creatures to escape despite another fallen trunk, but that is due to luck, and to the renewed tendency of the creatures to attack the lancers, rather than to attempt to escape beyond the deadland.

“We getting any replacements, ser?” Kusyl asks quietly, from where he rides alongside Lorn.

“I’ve requested more lancers three times, Kusyl. Majer Maran never offered much encouragement, but he didn’t say no, either. That’s if he got back to Geliendra, but I haven’t heard about that, either.”

“Funny about that, ser. His men found his mount, but not him. Think the Forest got him? They say that happens, sometimes.”

“It could have happened, but we didn’t see any traces of wild creatures.” Lorn shrugs tiredly as they near the gates. “I just wish he had sent us some more lancers. The men are accomplishing the impossible, but it can’t go on.”

“What if we just waited until the Engineers arrived? Before getting near the trunk, ser?” asks Kusyl.

“We’d have as many dead lancers and some dead Engineers, probably, and Second Company would have a new captain and new squad leaders,” Lorn replies.

“Thought it be like that, ser.” Kusyl shakes his head. “Can’t be saying as I understand. Do you, ser?”

“Not totally, Kusyl. I’ve heard that the Magi’i are going to try something, but that was seasons ago, and nothing has happened. Maybe they just want us to hang on until they can. Or maybe it’s something else.”

“Whatever it be, ser, best they do something or they’ll have creatures running free throughout northeast Cyador.”

“The other companies are short of lancers, too,” Lorn points out.

“Not near so short as Second Company.”

“They don’t face so many tree-falls.”

Kusyl shakes his head sadly.

“Evening, ser,” calls the gate guard as Lorn nears the gates. “Hard patrol?”

“Hard patrol,” Lorn confirms.

He will send another request for replacements, little good as such requests seem to do, but how can he not make such requests?

His fingers clench momentarily as he considers that senior officers-Maran, and now Meylyd-are forcing him to choose between his own life and risking his lancers. Yet, were he to step aside, or let himself be killed, nothing would change.

It may not, anyway, for all that he has chosen to follow dreams.

He pushes that thought aside. He also pushes aside the desire to use the chaos glass to view Meylyd. If Meylyd isat all sensitive to its use, that will create more problems, and Lorn knows of nothing to be gained by using the glass for such a purpose.

For the moment.