L. Modesitt - Scion of Cyador

“Ah…yes, ser.”

“That’s the commander’s choice, but with a commander and the Captain-Commander dead, and the Majer-Commander missing, and probably dead through some plotting of Commander Lhary…Commander Sypcal and the Emperor may need some talented and loyal officers.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn turns and hurries down the steps.

“Not one officer in a score…turn down that…”

“…meant what he said…”

“…always does…”

Lorn only hopes that he can continue to keep his word, both to Rynst, and to himself.

Lorn glances at the cold blue sky to the south, above the harbor, as he rides downhill toward the maneuver grounds and the warehouse barracks beyond. He thinks he sees two ships under sail on the horizon, but that could be because he expects to see them. He looks again, standing in the stirrups, but still is not sure.

Cheryk is standing outside the barracks as Lorn reins up the gelding and dismounts.

“Ser…there was a messenger for you…”

“I already got it. The Captain-Commander wanted to see me. That’s why I’m late.”

“The messenger said we’d be posted to protect the Mirror Lancer Court,” Cheryk says in a level tone.

Lorn shakes his head. “Matters…The Majer-Commander has disappeared. Commander Lhary killed the Captain-Commander, and tried to kill me. Commander Sypcal is acting Majer-Commander.”

“Commander Lhary? Ser? They say he’s most excellent with a blade.”

“Not quite excellent enough. He’s dead.” Lorn’s voice is weary. “We’re still to protect access to the Palace.”

“After all that, ser?”

“Especially after all that. Our duty, and our orders from the Majer-Commander and the Emperor, were to protect the Palace and the city. That doesn’t change.” Lorn pauses. “And if anything happens to me, those are your orders, Captain.” Lorn’s voice is like cold ordered iron.

“Yes, ser.”

Esfayl steps out of the barracks. “Everyone’s mounted out back and ready to ride, ser.”

Lorn motions for Esfayl to join him and Cheryk, waiting until the younger captain steps closer. “Cheryk, I’d like you to take your company and Esfayl’s second squad to Second Harbor Way West-I’d say the corner of Benevolent Commerce. That’s above the Dyjani compound where they’re mustering the greensuits already here in Cyad. That way, you’ll be between the greensuits and the Palace.”

“How do you want it handled?” asks the older captain.

“Have them lay down their arms and turn back or they get killed.” Lorn frowns. “Can your men aim the lances low enough to hit their legs if they use mirrorlike shields?”

“We practiced that last eightday. With short bursts. Ought to be good enough to tear holes in their shield wall somewhere. Then we’ll fire on the open sides of the gap.”

“Do what you can. If you can rout them quickly, try not to leave many survivors. We don’t want them re-forming later in the eightday. If you can’t hold them, fall back and send me a messenger. Esfayl and I will be supporting the firecannon to stop reinforcements from being landed on the piers. If we can stop them, then we’ll rejoin you. If you can stop the greensuits there, hold your position, but send Esfayl’s squad here to the piers.” Lorn glances from Cheryk to Esfayl, then back. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, ser,” the two reply.

“Then we’d better start. Esfayl, have your first squad meet me at the Mirror Engineer building.”

Esfayl nods, then turns and hurries into the barracks.

Lorn remounts and rides the gelding the quarter-kay to the Mirror Engineer building, where Ghyrat, as Cheryk was, is waiting for Lorn. His breath steams in the cool morning air.

“Majer, we’re ready to move the cannon up to Mirror Lancer Court.”

Lorn does not dismount as he replies. “The Majer-Commander is missing, and the Captain-Commander was killed by Commander Lhary. Commander Sypcal is acting Majer-Commander, and our original orders stand, Captain. There are two ships coming into the piers. I’d guess the outermost deepwater pier. You’ll need to set up at the foot of the pier so that you can sweep it clear of any armsmen. We may have to fire the ships as well.”

“Cyadoran ships?”

“Cyadoran ships carrying armed guards to reinforce those already trying to storm the Palace. They would put a merchanter on the Malachite Throne.”

“You know this?”

“So did the Majer-Commander and the Captain-Commander. Our job is to hold Cyad for the Emperor.” Whoever he may be. “So…move the cannon to the foot of the outermost pier, but leave it ready to be moved again, if necessary.”

“Yes, ser.” Ghyrat bows and reenters the engineer building.

Lorn turns in the saddle, waiting as Esfayl and his squad of lancers ride toward him.

As they near, Lorn calls, “To the outermost pier.” Without looking back, he urges the gelding past the engineer building, and then along the paved seawall road from which the piers jut into the water.

Just short of the foot of the outermost pier, Lorn reins up and again studies the harbor-and the Great Western Ocean to the south. The blue-gray water of the harbor itself bears a slight chop, with a scattered small whitecap here and there. Farther out are indeed the sails of two large trading vessels.

“Coming in for sure, ser,” Esfayl says from where he has reined up beside Lorn. “Not with the best wind, either.”

Lorn turns to Esfayl. “Once the firecannon is set up here, I don’t want your first squad in sight of the piers.”

“You want the guards on shore before we attack,” Esfayl suggests.

“I’d rather not have you attack at all. You’re here in case the cannon can’t destroy them. If necessary, I’ll have Ghyrat turn the cannon on the masts, or even the hulls, but I’d prefer to sweep the pier and save the ship.”

The black-haired captain nods. “Treat them just like the Jeranyi.”

“These are worse,” Lorn says slowly. “The Jeranyi had no understanding of Cyador and did not know what it offers. These guards would destroy it for a handful of golds.”

“We can stand down behind the sheds between the piers,” Esfayl suggests.

Lorn nods. “If you would also take my mount…but you need to be the one who can watch for my orders, if we need you.”

“Yes, ser.”

Behind him, Lorn can hear the rumbling and whining of a small firewagon as it tows the cannon-like those once used against the Accursed Forest-along the seawall road. The small firewagon is but four-wheeled, and armored in cupridium plate. It tows an armored two-wheeled device with a tubular projection. When the firewagon halts, several engineers step from a hatch in the side, and unhitch the cannon, and slowly wheel it toward the pier.

Lorn turns the gelding and gestures as to where he wants the cannon placed. “Here…on a straight shot along the pier.”

“Yes, ser,” replies Ghyrat.

Once the cannon is positioned, one of the engineer rankers brings a crank out and inserts it into a fitting on the side of the cannon. He turns it rapidly, and, slowly, a small hatch opens on the side of the cannon. The engineer slips into the hatch. Another ranker rolls a long cable from the firewagon that has towed the cannon, to an assembly on the rear of the cannon. There, he fits the sheathed cupridium cable into a square bracket.

When Ghyrat has the cannon set up and positioned as Lorn desires, the majer waits until Ghyrat steps forward and looks up at the mounted lancer officer.

“You can hit anything on the pier, can you not?” Lorn asks, seeking a confirmation of what he has seen years earlier.

“Ah…yes, ser.”

“Stand by for a moment.” Lorn looks out from the foot of the outermost deepwater pier. The wind has shifted, and now blows from the south, much as Ryalth has predicted. The two vessels bearing no ensigns or banners make their way toward Cyad, along the wide main channel, under more than half-canvas, far more than most vessels coming into the piers.