L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

On the left outer wall are four narrow windows. On the right inner wall is a set of open double doors that show a larger bedchamber. Lorn steps through the doors and sets the bags on the green-tiled floor. A modest double-sized bed without posts and with a low headboard is flanked by two tables with tarnished bronze lamps set on each. A faded green shimmercloth spread covers the bed. On one side of the small door that leads to a bathing chamber is a dressing table. On the other are two oversized armoires, set side by side. The bedchamber also has four narrow windows that match those in the main room.

“Ser…Some commanders, years back, ser, they brought their consorts.”

“Mine might visit,” Lorn says, “but she won’t stay long.”

“Ser?”

“She’s the head of a trading house.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn turns and leaves the bedchamber.

“Ser…ah…I’ll tell Daelya that you’ll be needing the quarters cleaned.”

Lorn nods. “If she could do that this afternoon while you and I talk over the situation here…”

“Yes, ser. She is your cook, also, ser.”

The remaining rooms of the quarters consist of a dining room with a table large enough to seat a dozen, a kitchen with a huge ceramic stove that must be generations old, a breakfast room, and a back pantry, off which are service side stairs down to the courtyard.

Lorn nods to himself as he completes the quick tour and studies Helkyt. “I’d like to look at the barracks, and the stables, and everything else.”

“Now…ser?”

“Now.” Lorn smiles. “How will I know what you are talking about unless I see it?”

“Yes, ser.” Helkyt’s professional tone does not quite cover the dismay and resignation in his voice, but he turns and leads Lorn back down the steps. They cross the dusty paved courtyard to the other long building, entering through the double doors in the middle.

The odors of age, urine, and spoiled food assault Lorn before he has taken his second step into the barracks building. He glances around. The plan is similar to that of the barracks at Isahl, with two barracks areas flanking an open center mustering area.

Lorn turns left.

“Ah, ser…The north end has been closed for some time.”

Lorn nods and keeps walking past the columns. While the bunk frames remain, it is almost impossible to discern them for the discarded materials scattered over and around them. Lorn can make out rotted timbers, empty and broken barrels, a twisted firelance shaft, several sets of shutters, and splotches of liquids on the tiles.

He turns and walks back through the mustering area, heading toward the area in use.

“Officer in the barracks!” Helkyt announces.

The first two bunks are unoccupied, bare horsehair mattresses sitting in frames, without even footchests at their base.

Two lancers stand before footchests at the next set of bunks. Both are young, certainly younger than Lorn had been when he began lancer training. They wear but smallclothes. Lorn raises his eyebrows.

“They had guard duty at the gates last night, ser.”

Lorn nods. “You can get some rest for now.”

“Yes, ser,” the two reply in near unison.

The remainder of the bunks are empty, but blankets lie strewn carelessly over mattresses, and dust has gathered in corners. Three of the footchests are open, and one lacks hinges and a lid.

Lorn’s boots find sticky patches on the tiles as he walks along the barracks bay. He turns and walks back past the reclining lancers and out through the mustering area. Finally, he stands in the clean air outside the barracks.

He looks at Helkyt. “Let’s see the rest.”

“Yes, ser.”

As he follows the rotund squad leader, Lorn only hopes that the stables, the armory, the storerooms, and other sections of the compound will prove less in need of cleaning and repair.

On the first morning after his arrival in Biehl, Lorn sets the list he has written up on the wide desk in the administrative headquarters. Then he surveys the room more carefully than he had the day before. Like everything else in the Mirror Lancer compound at Biehl, the study Lorn has as a compound commander is larger than those he has seen elsewhere-and far older. None of the five manuals in the built-in oak bookcase has been opened in years, if not generations, as Lorn discovers when lifting one and discovering that a thin strip of leather from the binding remains stuck to the wood of the shelves.

Fine cracks adorn the antique golden oak table desk, and he has never seen the like of either the ornate swirled bronze lamps or the wall sconces in which they rest. The chair behind the desk is large-and heavy. Dust puffs from the wide green cushion that covers the seat when Lorn plumps it. He rubs his nose, managing not to sneeze.

The window is stiff, but he eases it open enough to let in some of the moister and cleaner outside air. Then he reseats himself behind the desk, glancing toward the two chests filled with less than perfectly kept records, the study of which had occupied much of the previous evening.

After a deep breath, he clears his throat and calls, “Helkyt!”

The door opens, and the squad leader appears. “Yes, ser?”

Lorn motions for Helkyt to take one of the chairs on the other side of the table desk. He waits for the man to seat himself, and for a bit longer, before he begins. “We have more than a few matters to take care of around here, Helkyt,” Lorn says with a cheer he scarcely feels.

“Yes, ser.” Helkyt’s voice is even, wary.

“First, best you know why I was sent here.”

“That had puzzled me, ser, I must admit.”

“You may have heard that the barbarians have been increasing their attacks to the east and the south of here. Isahl, Inividra, Assyadt-they’ve all had more and more attacks by larger and larger groups.”

“I hadn’t heard that, ser, but there’s much we don’t hear in Biehl.”

“The Majer-Commander needs more trained lancers.” Lorn waits.

“Ah…so…”

Lorn nods. “You understand that with the barbarians becoming more active…well…the Emperor does need more lancers in Assyadt…and we can either train them or find ourselves being transferred. All of us.”

Helkyt tries to avoid swallowing.

“We both would rather recruit and train more lancers. That means we’ll have to clean up the north wing of the barracks, and start acquiring more mounts, and sabres. We can only do a little of the firelance training here, because those lances are needed elsewhere, but I’ll be seeing if we can be sent a few more, just in case the barbarians decide to come westward from Jera. It also means that we’ll have to be ready to begin training no later than the turn of summer.”

“The turn of summer, ser?”

The overcaptain gives the senior squad leader another smile. “I’m certain you can help me work this out, Helkyt. I’d much rather rely on someone of your experience in Biehl than to break in someone new.”

“I am sure we can meet the Majer-Commander’s requirements, ser. Ah…will there be other officers…company captains?”

“I was led to believe that I have the first opportunity here, Helkyt. I’d like to be able to work it out between us. If it proves to take too long, though, there could be several officers arriving, and the Majer-Commander would just bring in an entire new cadre.”

“I am most sure we can work out matters, ser. Most sure.”

Lorn leans back in his chair, but only slightly. “I am most pleased that you feel that way. Both the Majer-Commander and His Mightiness are known to reward success as surely as they punish failure. We would both prefer the rewards, I believe.”

“Yes, ser. Yes, ser.” Helkyt nods his head twice, quickly.