Magi'i of Cyador

LXVI

THE ALMOST-SETTING SUN falls on Lorn’s left shoulder as he rides northeast along the outer perimeter road toward the white walls a kay ahead-walls that mark the Mirror Lancer compound at Jakaafra. The sky above the compound is already darkening with clouds sweeping in from the east. A chill wind blows into the Lancer captain’s face, a wind bringing a raw dampness that foreshadows rain-or sleet. Behind Lorn rides a half-squad of lancers, just gathered in from their line abreast formation, the senior ranker riding beside him.

Despite the warnings from the two engineers three days earlier in Westend, neither Lorn nor any lancers in the squad have seen any other sign of the Accursed Forest attempting to escape the confines of the ward-wall.

Lorn’s eyes flick to his right, toward the ward-wall itself where Kusyl rides with the other half of the replacement squad, then back to the compound ahead, and the white granite bulk of the chaos tower adjoining the compound and looming over it.

“Not too far to go,” Lorn offers, his words barely louder than the sound of hoofs on the granite stones of the perimeter road.

“No, ser. Should get there before the rain,” replies Ubylt, the ranking lancer in the squad.

A hundred cubits ahead, to Lorn’s left, splitting off at an angle from the outer perimeter road runs another road, to the northwest.

“That goes where? Do you know, Ubylt?”

“To the town of Jakaafra, ser. Folks use the outer road to get to the towns around Westend. Be faster that way.”

Lorn nods to himself.

Hoofs clop on the hard granite of the road as Lorn and the half score of lancers with him ride toward the compound, an oblong of light compared to the towering darkness of the Accursed Forest just to the south.

Kusyl brings his half of the replacement squad toward the compound on the western kay-long connecting road that parallels the wall running from the ward-wall proper to the white-granite bulk of the structure housing the chaos-tower. The stone glows faintly with the suffused energy of chaos in the growing darkness of late twilight, a glow invisible to those without Magi’i-like talents.

“Didn’t see anything, ser, not on this last leg,” the squad leader reports to Lorn.

“We didn’t either, and I’m grateful for that.”

Lorn and Kusyl lead the recombined squad through the open gates. The compound at Jakaafra could almost be a duplicate of the one at Westend, except that the gates are in the middle of the southern wall, rather than in the middle of the eastern wall.

Two lancers are lighting the lamps on the wall behind the gates, and lamps have already been lit on several of the low stone structures deeper within the outpost.

“Stables that way, ser,” suggests Kusyl, gesturing ahead and to his left.

“Thank you.” Lorn urges the gelding leftward.

A heavy-set and jowled lancer waits by the stables, his round face impassive in the light of the lamp in the holder to the left of the door, his eyes cold as he surveys the approaching column. He steps forward as he catches sight of Lorn. “You’re the new captain, ser? For Second Company.”

“I am. Captain Lorn, squad leader.”

“Olisenn, ser.” Olisenn’s mouth smiles; his eyes do not. “Senior squad leader.”

“Pleased to see you, Olisenn.” Lorn swings out of his saddle and gestures to Kusyl. “Squad leader Kusyl. I believe he’ll be leading the second squad.”

Kusyl dismounts quickly.

“Good to meet you, Kusyl.” Olisenn nods to the junior squad leader before turning back to Lorn. “You have the second room in the officers’ section, ser. I’ll be taking Kusyl to show him the quarters, if that be to your agreement.”

“Once the mounts are set, that would be fine.” Lorn nods to both squad leaders.

Both bow before they turn away.

As in Westend, a stableboy scurries up to take Lorn’s gelding, and he has to remind himself to recover his gear.

Lorn walks from the stables, carrying his gear, and starts toward the end of the barracks building that should hold the officers’ quarters. As he nears the lamp-flanked door on the south end, another lancer captain emerges and struts toward Lorn.

The oncoming officer is dark-haired, slightly taller than Lorn, but slender, with a thin mustache, and black eyes. His uniform is tailored to show a narrow waist, and the custom white boots shimmer, reflecting the courtyard lamps. He stops a good five cubits from Lorn. “You must be the new Second Company officer, I take it.”

“That’s right. I’m Lorn.”

“Meisyl. I’m the one you’re relieving. You picked a good time to arrive. We just finished patrol.”

“So we’ll have tomorrow standing down.”

“Exactly.”

Belatedly, Lorn lifts the hand with the seal ring, and starts to reach for his orders.

“We can handle that in the morning.” Meisyl laughs, a languorous sound, as if he finds the exchange both amusing and boring simultaneously. “I’ll take you through the records and all the reports that Commander Meylyd so enjoys.”

“When you think it best,” Lorn demurs.

“Tomorrow is early enough. I won’t be leaving until tomorrow afternoon anyway.”

“How will you get back to Geliendra?” Lorn asks. “You aren’t riding back by yourself? Or taking a detachment of lancers for rotation?”

“Oh, no. The rotated lancers won’t leave for an eightday. I’ll catch a ride on the Engineer’s small firewagon on its next run for replacement wards or whatever.” Meisyl shrugs almost delicately. “It only takes two days to get to Geliendra from here that way.

“You have the second room. It’s the same as the first, and when I leave you can take your choice. The third is smaller, and that belongs to Undercaptain Juist. He heads the First Company; they do the domestic patrol. He’s been an undercaptain for a long while, but he was promoted from senior squad leader when they did such.” Meisyl dismisses Juist’s promotion with a graceful wave of his long-fingered left hand.

Lorn nods.

“I’ll see you in the officers’ dining room-just the two of us tonight-after you’re settled. Olisenn will take care of the incoming men.”

“We’ve discussed that,” Lorn says. “He was waiting for Kusyl and me.”

“Very conscientious, Olisenn is,” Meisyl replies. “Most knowledgeable about many matters as well.” With another smile he turns.

Lorn picks up the green bags and begins to cross the courtyard, following Meisyl’s steps. The wind has continued to rise, and the faint splatt of rain on stone begins to fill the courtyard.

The second room in the officers’ section is more spacious than that in Westend, and it even has a wardrobe and a narrow desk with a separate lamp in a bracket over the table desk.

After closing the white oak door behind him, Lorn unpacks his uniforms, hanging the tunics in the space in the wardrobe and the waterproof and winter jacket on the wallpegs. The screeing glass goes under his smallclothes in the wardrobe, but he leaves the Brystan sabre in one of the two green bags that he folds and slips into the shelf under the single bunk. Then he goes to find the wash chamber where he shaves and cleans up before repairing to the officers’ small dining room.

Meisyl is waiting, but does not stand as Lorn approaches, merely gesturing for him to seat himself. Meisyl has a bottle of wine before him, and there are two of the heavy goblets on the time-darkened but bare and smoothly polished white oak of the table.

“That’s one thing, Lorn. You have to make arrangements for your own ale or wine. I’d suggest the chandler in Jakaafra. His name is Duluk. Very fastidious about his wines. Sometimes he can even get Alafraan.”

“All the way from Escadr?” Lorn lifts his eyebrows.

Meisyl laughs. “I’ll win a gold from Juist on that.”

“The Alafraan’s better than Fhynyco. At least, I think so.”

“Depends on whether you like body or bouquet better.” Again, Meisyl’s tone is almost bored. “The Alafraan goes better with meat. I like the Fhynyco better with fowl. Only desperate men drink Byrdyn.” He fills the two goblets three-quarters full and nods to Lorn.

“Thank you.” Taking the nearest goblet, Lorn reflects that, while he enjoyed Zandrey’s Alafraan while he was stationed at Isahl, he has never been desperate for any kind of wine. “Desperate men do have strange tastes.”

A server in green appears with platters and cutlery which he sets on the side of the table, quickly leaving and then reappearing with a larger serving platter and two baskets. “Sers?”

“Just put it down,” Meisyl orders off-handedly.

“Thank you.” Lorn nods to the server, who bows and retreats.

Dinner is a platter with sliced mutton covered with a brown sauce and boiled potatoes in one of the baskets. The second basket holds bread-cool.

“The other company here? Juist’s?” asks Lorn. “They patrol the northeast perimeter?”

“Not except for the eightdays when.Second Company’s on furlough.” Meisyl shakes his head. “They’re the peacemaking company for the villages on the north side of the Accursed Forest. Juist acts as a justicer about half the time. They also chase bandits … when there are any.”

“Peacemaking?” Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“Once you get north of the Forest, there aren’t that many towns between here and the Westhorns or the Hills of Endless Grass. It’s almost like a province. So someone has to act as the Emperor’s Presence. Juist is good at it; he understands those people.” Meisyl offers a condescending sniff before he takes a small swallow of the purplish Alafraan.

“So there’s no Engineer detachment here? Just the two Lancer companies?”

“This is the only perimeter base that has no Engineers. They send a detachment here-every third day to check the tower. I’ll ride back on their firewagon.”

Lorn wonders. Is he stationed at Jakaafra for just that reason? That it is the only base without the engineers who are effectively low-level adept mages? Who else like him has been stationed at Jakaafra? How would he find out?

“How many engineers do they send up here?”

“Three or four, usually. Mostly officers.” Meisyl breaks off a chunk of bread and dips it in the brown sauce. “You’ll get to know them all … such as they are.”

“Has there been much trouble with the Accursed Forest lately?” Lorn takes a bite of the dry mutton, glad for the sauce.

“Not for a season. Oh, you always have shoots and seedlings popping up somewhere, but that’s to be expected. We haven’t seen a limb bridge in …” Meisyl frowns. “ … since late summer. There are always a few trunks falling over a season, but it’s been a while lately. So you won’t have many lancers left who are prepared for more than the occasional order-assault.”

“I suppose the records tell how long …. Where are therecords on the Second Company?” asks Lorn guilelessly.

“You have a study. Or you will tomorrow. It’s the building across from the north end of the barracks. Olisenn keeps the records on the men, and they’re in a chest in the outer study when he’s not working on them.” Meisyl looks at the already half-empty bottle of Alafraan. “It will be pleasant to return somewhere that one can get a decent wine besides Alafraan.”

“Where will you be going?”

“The port detachment at Summerdock. My consort-to-be will be joining me there, as my consort, then, of course.”

“You must be nearing sub-majer.”

“A mere formality.” Meisyl refills his goblet and glances at Lorn.

“No, thank you.” Lorn smiles, knowing he must be scrupulously polite all the while Meisyl remains. “Tell me about how you came to Jakaafra, if you would.”

“There’s little enough to say. I grew up in Fyrad, and went to the Lancer Academy, as had my sire, and his sire ….”

Lorn smiles and nods, taking another sip of Alafraan, one so small that the wine never really passes his lips.